


Daleks, Cannons, Manipulators, oh my...

by hellostarlight20



Series: We Are Never Alone [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s03e05 Evolution of the Daleks, F/M, Fluff, Not a Season 3 rewrite, Romance, Smutty goodness, Telepathy, and goes AU from there, slight telepathic connection between Ten/Rose, though it may look like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 05:19:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4167459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellostarlight20/pseuds/hellostarlight20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and Martha are in 1930 New York during Daleks in Manhattan and Evolution of the Daleks. But they're not the only ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a season 3 rewrite in that I insert Rose and/or Jack into season 3. This is the start or my own take on season 3 of New Who with the addition of Rose and Jack in fun and interesting ways. (Not like that, get your minds out of the gutter! *G*)
> 
> I do go through the episodes, but it's really about the parts we don't see along with the progression of romance, friendship, relationships, and character growth.

He woke up—lips-fingers-soft hair-softer skin—he knew he was awake because of the burning-aching-tearing feeling clawing through his throat on the end of a scream. Always the same. Always her name. He hadn’t wanted to wake. Not when his dreams always started the same, with her hands on him, her mouth on his, her body surrounding him. He could still smell her, them, in the room on his sheets, and he wondered if She did that to help him through this aching grief that froze both his hearts and emptied his soul.

But then he woke on the scream and knew he'd woken because that tearing-aching-burning grief did claw through his lungs and out his throat and he did scream her name as she disappeared behind a wall so white he never wanted to see that color again. Both he and She had done their best to erase white from the TARDIS because the reminder stabbed his heart. Because she was on the other side of that damn wall, and it’d taken him ages, eons, lifetimes to accept that wall wasn’t going to open up for him and reveal the universe where she was trapped. Where he could rescue her.

No more white and blue kitchen with its window that overlooked the silver and red fields of Gallifrey. No more open-embracing-loving kitchen with its white accents and TARDIS blue tile and her scent permeating every inch of their home. Darker colors now, bronze and greens and rich cherry wood that hid his pain and showed a modernism he knew wasn’t really him but he didn’t care because now it was only a place to eat, drink tea, and forget existed.

Stretching, the Doctor scrubbed a hand over his face as if he could scrub the heartrending loneliness away as easily. He didn’t bother with a light, embraced the pitch blackness of his (their) bedroom and climbed out of bed (alone) and into the shower (don’t you want to join me?) and prepared for the day.

Sleep tempted him with one last touch from her, one last kiss, an embrace of memory but he pushed them away. If he gave into temptation, if he embraced that past, he’d…never leave. Would fall into the memory of her and them and would never force himself to wake. The trick, he’d learned, was to keep breathing.

Well, that and program the TARDIS to continually scan for weaknesses between the universes. He’d have more than enough time to check the scans before Martha woke. Better than spending all his time out of his mind. Probably.

Tugging the burgundy swirl tie (This one’s my favorite, she’d said, because it was the one you wore our first Christmas together.) he debated the wisdom of wearing it, but then breathed in deeply and smelled her and them and refused to break down. The silk slipped between his fingers and he tried, oh he tried, to push the past just a little to the side so he could meet Martha in the console room and pretend nothing was wrong.

He’d promised Martha they’d see New York. After the fiasco of New New York he owed her that, at least; the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, Broadway, all of it.

(Technically, it’s New, New, New, New, New, New, New, New, New, New, New, New, New, New, New York he’d said and she’d laughed and shot him that grin and he’d rolled over on his jacket and with the scent of apple grass and fresh starts and her around them, he captured her lips with his. It’d surprised her, that sudden contact with his new mouth and new lips and new hands, and he’d pulled back though he didn’t want to and saw she hadn’t wanted him to, either, not really, and promised her they’d take things slowly.)

A quick breakfast of tea (I’ll put the kettle on, yeah?) and a banana sausage roll that was one of the few things that set well in his stomach anymore, and he was in the console room (watching him with that smile on her soft lips and that wicked look in her brandy colored eyes as she stretched over the seat and he forgot where they were headed as he crossed to her).

Waiting for Martha.

****  
“Why a doctor?” she asked.

“Hmm?” The Doctor said, that faraway look in his eye as he gazed over the side of the ferry.

She didn’t let that deter her, however. Martha had loads (too much) experience with people overlooking her and knew when to push and when not to. The Doctor gave off all the right impressions—don’t touch, don’t look, don’t ask—but she wanted to know. Or was it more than that? Wanted-needed-desired (even) to know more about the enigmatic man who’d swept her off her feet and promised her the stars.

“Is that your name?” she asked. He finally turned to her and offered that half smile-half frown-half bemused look. Hmm, too many halves there. And she still didn’t have a whole.

“The Doctor, is that your name?” she asked again, leaning on the railing and watching him as if he were an experiment in her lab she desperately needed to understand.

“Or is that like your tribe or clan name? Do you come from a long line of Doctors? Or is it your name translated into English?” She grinned and added, “Is your real name highly untranslatable?”

He blinked at her and for a heartbeat she wondered if he understood her. But no, he’d said he knew all the languages and if there did happen to be one he didn’t know (which is highly unlikely Martha Jones!) then the TARDIS translated it for him. The look on his face, however, made her wonder if she’d suddenly spoken one of those highly unlikely languages he didn’t know.

Then again, it hadn’t taken Martha long to understand speaking in the appropriate language and understanding the language were two totally different concepts when it came to the man—alien—beside her.

She wanted to know him, wanted to hold his hand and comfort him when that look crossed his face and made his brown eyes so dark and bleak. And, because she was faithfully honest, to herself at least if no one else, she wanted to know what his hands felt like on her cheek, cupping her breasts, stroking her legs.

Alas. He looked through her more often than he looked at her.

“I chose it,” he said softly as the ferry docked.

The soft words were enough to jolt her out of her wayward thoughts and bring her back to the matter at hand.

Chose it? Why? How? To help? To heal? Did it have the same meaning in his language as in hers? Did the word doctor even exist in his language or was it something he picked up just cause? A hundred questions bubbled on the tip of her tongue and she tried to figure out which to ask first, but the ferry bumped the quay and his face lit up and she knew she lost her chance.

“So, disappearances!” He said enthusiastically as they disembarked.

She allowed the change of subject. Well, Martha thought wryly, maybe allow was too strong a word. Accepted. Yes. She accepted the change of subject. What choice did she have? Martha followed his long, quick strides off the ferry and toward Central Park’s Hooverville and whatever mystery the Doctor landed them in the middle of.

****  
Because he knew that sound, the wheezing-groaning-embracing sound that called to him even after all these years. He knew that sound and ran toward it, hoping it was the right one.

Hoping it was the right him. Hoping it was just right, oh please let it just be right. Just this once (and wow, did that sound really carry or what! He’d never noticed it before, always on the inside of the doors—except that once. That once. That one time the sound had carried over death and destruction and corridors of Dalek dust.)

Please let it be right.

Jack Harkness ran and ran, paced the ferry’s deck impatiently as it trudged slowly toward the island (and was only a little surprised that a ferry still ran at this time of night and yes, normally he _would_ look that gift horse in the mouth but not tonight, not now, not when he was close, oh so close) then hopped over the railing and sprinted onto the island.

Sixty-one years. He gulped in great breaths of air as he rounded the base of Lady Liberty at a full out sprint, terrified it was the wrong Doctor, the wrong time, the wrong everything. (She’d told him another 100 years and he’d believed her because that’s when Rose was alive but what if that little prophetess was wrong? What if it was now, now, now?)

If he still had time before Cardiff and the Doctor, like that girl had predicted, he’d figured he’d stay in New York and try to forget. (Angelo Colasanto, Torchwood, death, death, life. Most especially life.)

Sixty-nine years to go. Could she have been wrong? He hadn’t found that to be true, not in all the time since her prophecy. But then this was the Doctor and that was enough to confound anyone. Everyone. And oh, the anticipation in seeing them again made him giddy.

Jack skidded to a halt.

“Oh, beautiful,” he breathed.

Chest heaving, legs aching, heart pounding, he slowly approached the beautiful blue ship with a reverence usually reserved for holy items. The icy autumn wind whipped around him, carrying the scents of New York, water, humanity, and hope with it. Yes.

Hope.  
Courage.  
Yearning.

His fingers grazed the doors and he seriously debated hugging the beautiful Old Girl. She hummed in response and he could feel Her again, after decades of that golden absence from his mind, he could finally feel Her welcoming him back to Her.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered. And did give in and did hug Her and yes, that was a tear on his cheek, not the freezing November wind. And no. He didn’t care.

He was home.

Digging out the key from the chain he kept it on around his neck, carefully tucked away beneath layers of clothing, Jack looked at the door then at the key and took a deep breath, his body finally calming from his impatience, his run, his giddy nervousness. The Doctor had given him the key after their first trip to Cardiff with Rose beaming at him from where she sat on the seat, legs curled beneath her, fingers tangled in her hair, her laugh echoing around the console room like a breeze.

The Doctor had looked at her with a smile, the annoyed huff at Jack’s comments (is this the key to your bedroom? Aww, Doc, you shouldn’t have!) couldn’t disguise and held out his hand to her. Rose had immediately taken it, curling against his side as if she belonged there. Which, Jack supposed, she did. The Doctor had brushed his lips over the top of her head, still possessive but no longer the big bold _keep away_ gesture it had once been.

Jack hadn’t cared.

It was then he’d accepted his new family. And he had swallowed emotional tears that day, and he had offered a gruff thanks that couldn’t disguise the depth of trust and longing and intimacy he’d felt (not like that, though if they asked, he wouldn’t have said no).

The wind buffeted his coat around him, its icy fingers reminding him of the present not the past (future). He swallowed, desperate hope warring with fear. Who would he find inside? His fingers clenched the key, which finally, finally glowed warmly in is hand.

The flash of white light startled him.

****  
The Doctor looked up and saw the faintest of faint echoes of white light. Frowning, he tried to place the itch in the back of his brain, in his hearts, in his very soul. But then Diagoras was there and he really wanted to know what this mystery was about (he didn’t have a good feeling about it at all) and then he was volunteering and then Martha was threatening him (which she admittedly had every right to do considering) and that was that.

He pushed the itch skin and stabbing that threatened to puncture through his brain to the side. A warning-caution-threat. He really did have a bad feeling about this.

****  
“Rose.”

She heard her name and looked up, blinking in surprise. For a heartbeat she couldn’t see anything but white (a color she never thought she’d detest as much as she did) and heard nothing (the blood rushing in her ears, the sound of the Void pulling her in, the sound of her name as he screamed for her, as he begged her not to leave him).

Blinking, heart slowing from the jump, she looked around and tried to place where she’d landed.

“Rose!”

Before she had a chance to recover, strong arms wrapped around her in a familiar embrace, the whispered words of wonder-love-surprise soothing her even before she knew what they were or who said them or where she even was.

“Jack?” she whispered. “Jack!”

And then it was hugs and tears and hurried questions and explanations and what the hell had happened? What are you doing here and where is here and when is here and where is…?

Her TARDIS key clutched in one hand, Jack’s warm hand wrapped comfortably around her other, Rose opened Her door with trembling fingers and a heart that refused to steady and a stomach that threatened to rebel with all the expectation-hope-eagerness she’d felt for so long now, and stepped inside.

Warmth enveloped her, welcomed her, and she did break then. “I’m home,” she whispered.

Jack’s fingers twitched against hers. “Home, Rose,” he repeated and she wondered what had happened to him and where he’d been and how the hell he’d gone from two-hundred thousand years in the future to here, now.

They crossed the grating to the console (same sight, scent, sound, taste) and the dam holding her emotions broke. Rose sucked in a breath and She wrapped her welcoming golden warmth around her and Jack pulled her close and for the first time in far, far too long, she was home. Jack’s chest rumbled with his own emotion (tears, laughter, whispers of home, echoes of family).

“Tea,” she whispered against his chest. “Let’s go to the kitchen. I need a cuppa. Then you can tell me what we’re doing at the base of the Statue of Liberty and when we are and why we’re in America.”

She pulled back, looked up at Jack, managed a smile, and wiped her face. Jack swiped the backs of his hands over his own cheeks and pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her first. He folded the soppy mess wordlessly back into his pocket and held out his had to her once again then led the familiar way down the familiar passages with the familiar hum of Her singing softly in the back of her head.

Rose hadn’t realized it was there or how she’d missed it until She’d been gone. It never occurred to her this wasn’t the right TARDIS.

Rather, it hadn’t occurred to her that this was the right TARDIS but the wrong time and potentially the wrong Doctor (and oh, please don’t let it be the wrong everything) until she entered the kitchen.

She sucked in her breath on a gasping sob of uncertainty.

Gone was the white and blue kitchen, with its wide windows overlooking the red fields of Gallifrey (Tell me about your planet, she’d asked after they’d eaten chips and returned to the TARDIS).

And its curtains fluttering in the wind and grey clouds dancing over the orange sky with a hint of a hot, dry earthy-scented breeze. Gone was the snowcapped Mount Cadon (a hermit used to sit up there, Rose, and told the most amazing stories, he’d said after they’d met the last of the Daleks and she’d comforted him the only way she knew how, with her love and her body and her silence as he finally broke down and spoke of the past) in the distance with the Cadonflood River of Southern Gallifrey.

Gone was their kitchen, their welcoming kitchen they’d made together after the Daleks and after the Jagrafess and the Editor and when they finally agreed that maybe what they had was more than a shared space. The kitchen with his past and the scents of too many bananas and breads and home they’d made. Rose had loved the reminder of his home, and it had finally helped him speak more about what had happened.

Now that was all gone.

Gone.  
Vanished.  
Disappeared in a blaze of muted strangeness.

Now it was all bronze and green and rich cherry wood with a generic Earth field of waving grains and a blue sky with white fluffy clouds and a breeze that smelled like the sea. Better than the original kitchen Rose had first seen, the one that overlooked a vast and uncompromising ocean with a single window and the scent of salt. But still so foreign-remote-wrong.

Rose stopped and stared at this new creation, the first feeling of wrongness pricking her chest and making her skin itch.

“Oh,” Jack said looking around in astonished amazement. His hand still wrapped tightly around hers and he didn’t move far from her side. “You changed the kitchen!” She tore her gaze from the room to him, utterly unable to form words. He frowned and shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

“I,” she started then tried again. “I—I—” Rose shook her head.

Jack’s hand tightened around hers and he looked at her with those shrewd blue eyes darkened with sadness and suspicion and concern and maybe just a little anger.

“What happened, Rose?” His quiet voice shattered every wall she’d rebuilt after Canary Wharf and Torchwood and that Other World and the long, long journey back to here.

“Torchwood,” she managed, saw-felt-sensed him flinch and told her tale.

Jack guided her to the high table, all stone and wrought iron, and made her tea just as she remembered. Her favorite biscuits appeared. All of her favorite biscuits. And a box of the softest tissues, barely scented with lavender.

White walls.  
Screaming Void.  
The Doctor begging her to hold on. Don’t leave me!  
White walls.  
Nothingness.Emptiness.  
Trying to build a life.  
Failing and building a universe jumper instead.  
Coming home.

“But what happened to you?” Rose demanded, blowing her nose. Damn it, how often had she cried? How many times had she promised herself those were the last tears (they always were, every time)?

“Torchwood,” Jack said and frowned into his cup of tea. He stood, put the kettle back on, kept his back to her, and told her his story.

Left.  
Abandoned.  
1869.  
Torchwood.  
Torture.  
Death.  
Punishment for his life before her and the Doctor.  
Or penance for being so happy and finally finding a home.  
Wandering-lonely-alone-waiting.

Finding home.

****  
“I guess there really is someone for everyone,” Martha said with a smile as she watched Lazlo and Tallulah (3 l’s and an h) hold hands.

“Maybe,” the Doctor said with that sad-wistful-heartbreaking smile he sometimes wore. The one that told her he wasn’t thinking of her, but of Rose.

Hell, for all Martha knew about him, he could have been thinking about anyone, all the people he’d ever traveled with. She associated that smile with Rose, whatever had happened to her, however he’d lost her, but she knew nothing about him—how many people had he lost?

All of them, she remembered and flinched at that reminder as he told her about his planet and his people and his loss.

“Do you think we’ll ever see Dalek Caan again?” she asked instead and prayed the answer was no. She never, ever wanted to see a Dalek again. They terrified her with their no emotions and their hatred of anything different.

“Oh, yes.” Hard, bitter, hateful. “One day.”

Then he turned and they made their way back to the Statue of Liberty. Not a stroll, despite the weariness tugging at her limbs. The Doctor slowed for no one, far as she could tell, but that was just as well. All Martha wanted was a cup of tea, a hot shower, and bed. Well, maybe and a slice of pizza. Yes. Pizza.

Did they have pizza in 1930 New York? Maybe she could talk the Doctor into stopping at the market again, the one with the really great pizza and that cold fizzy drink she couldn’t pronounce. Where had that been? Valerious, Valerian? No that was a depression med. Thalerious? Something like that. She’d ask after she woke up.

Her brain was shutting down and Martha concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other on their way back to the ferry. Forget pizza and a shower. She’d sleep for a week after today.

****  
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong, wrong, _wrong_ , _**wrong**_.

It beat through him like a mantra, a drum, but he didn’t know where it came from and didn’t know how to identify it, and the closer they got to the TARDIS the more it intensified.

Oh. Damn. No, the Doctor knew exactly what it was. And it beat through him and for a heartbeat, (more, double, triple, his hearts pounded in dread-trepidation- horror-fear) he wondered if his beloved ship would even be there or would have fled, but no. The comforting golden hum of Her sang through his mind.

He threw open the doors and his entire world stopped.


	2. Chapter 2

The Doctor threw open the doors to the TARDIS, rather dramatically, he realized but didn’t quite care. The stabbing pain in his head continued and he felt a somewhat familiar but highly irrational need to run. Run like the Daleks, Cybermen, Sontarans, and Torchwood surrounded his beloved ship. 

On the edge of the Void.

With some revolutionary newfangled weapon of some sort or other aimed at him. At all his regenerations. Simultaneously. With the sole intent to end him…permanently.

He didn’t know what to expect when he threw open the TARDIS doors. But it was something. It wasn’t, however, nothing. The nothing that greeted him as he stalked around the room, looking for the reason a pickax tried to tear apart his skull. But the only thing that greeted him was his normal console room, with the steady blue-green light from the time rotor and the comforting golden hum of the Old Girl Herself.

He frowned and absently tossed his coat over the column. (You need a coat rack, you do, she’d said with that laugh that promised a thousand and one delights as she followed him up the ramp, retaking his hand. She’d barely waited until they dematerialized before tugging him to their bedroom.)

“Doctor?” Martha asked and it sounded like it wasn’t the first time she’d called his name.

“Hmm?” he answered distracted as his fingers caressed his console in a well-remembered dance of time.

(Her mouth tasted down his neck, her fingers danced over sensitive flesh. Her body covered his, her scent—arousal-time-need-Rose-his—surrounded him. Made him want. Teased every single sense until he growled and pulled her onto him. Slammed into her. Took her.)

“What’s wrong?”

He looked up to see Martha (not Rose, never again Rose) frowning, hands stuffed in her coat pockets, still shivering. He hadn’t realized she was so cold and smiled absently at her. Even that faint movement hurt. But the TARDIS showed no signs of a problem. Maybe he just needed sleep. 

“Oh, nothing.” He waved a hand with that air of Trust me, I’m the Doctor and pressed the buttons to begin the dematerialization sequence.

“Why don’t you go warm up, Martha?” he stated more than asked, but still didn’t look at her. His brain hurt and his eyes ached and the sheer wrongness of his own TARDIS jabbed at the already jagged and broken pieces of his heart. “Go grab some tea.”

What could possibly be wrong on his TARDIS that made him feel like this? No one, other than Martha, currently had a key. Welllll…no one in this dimension. Or this time. Or…it didn’t matter anyway, because no one could break in, either.

Martha was silent for several minutes, and he could feel her dark eyes on him, but then she nodded. He could all but hear the hundred or so questions she wanted to ask but didn’t have the courage or the confidence to do so.

Condemnation. (Doctor, she said in that soft tone that caught his attention and held it no matter how her voice wavered. What happened?)

“Do you want a cup?” Martha asked quietly.

No. No, he didn’t want to go in that kitchen more than he had to. It felt so wrong and distant and, well, alien whenever he forced himself to enter that room, and he desperately wanted the comfort of their kitchen but she was gone... And the pounding in his head increased and his vision started to blur and he thought maybe he should take a look around the TARDIS, just in case someone had broken in. (The assembled hordes of Genghis Khan couldn’t get through that door. And believe me, they’ve tried. Now shut up a minute.)

The sequence complete, the Doctor tried not to stumble as his ship vaulted Herself into the vortex. He still had those scans to check, though hoped She would’ve beeped insistently at him if She’d found a way between universes, but he needed to check her progress and maybe recalibrate the systems a little more finely. Any crack, slim as it may be, was something to work with.

And then he heard them. Two sets of footsteps raced down the corridor towards the console room. His hearts skipped, stuttered, then redoubled their efforts. His vision truly did blur. His superior Time Lord physiology completely failed him. Because he knew those footsteps, was intimately familiar with how they sounded in Her and on a planet and down a corridor.

“Rose.”

****  
Jack grabbed onto the doorjamb and skidded to a halt, Rose right behind him. He looked into the room, quickly assessed the situation, wondered who the beautiful woman was, almost made a joke about the Doctor, but then Rose pushed past him and he stepped back.

He’d waited sixty-one years for answers. He could wait a few more seconds. Jack eyed the Doctor and the blur that was Rose as she raced toward him, boots loud on the grating, threw herself into his already waiting arms, and amended that from seconds to hours.

Some reunions were more important.

“Hi,” Jack said to the stunned woman watching from the sidelines, mouth slightly open and looking completely flabbergasted. He could relate. Poor thing. “I’m Captain Jack Harkness.”

She turned wide eyes to him and took his outstretched hand automatically. Hadn’t traveled with the Doctor all that long then, still a tad too trusting. Then again, no one broke into the TARDIS and he could once more sympathize—this wasn’t exactly a normal, even for the Doctor, event.

“Martha,” she managed, voice quiet even as her eyes drifted back to the Doctor and Rose. “Uh, Martha Jones.”

“Martha Jones, you look like you could use a cup of tea. I’m making it.” Jack didn’t wait for her to agree, simply held onto her hand and pulled her around the rapidly growing passionate reunion. “You look like you could use dinner, too.”

“I wanted pizza,” she said faintly and twisted back to look at the lovers who now murmured to each other as if no one else existed. Rose had wrapped herself around the Doctor who held onto her as if she was the last lifeline in the universe. She probably was. A rush of warmth circled Jack’s heart the likes of which he hadn’t felt in sixty-one years.

Damn but he’d…  
Missed  
Envied  
Wanted  
Needed  
Loved that about his family.

Martha had that stunned-hurt-longing expression Jack knew all too well. Hell, Doctor, what happened between what Rose had told him about Torchwood and now? They hadn’t got far with current stories, only what happened to have Rose to not be in this universe and Jack not being in the year 200,100. Threading Martha’s hand through the crock of his elbow, Jack smiled disarmingly at her and guided her, unresisting, toward the kitchen he didn’t really like with promises of the best homemade pizza in the TARDIS.

It was the least he could do for her while the Doctor and Rose got…reacquainted.

Jack ran his hand over the arch between console room and hallway. Steady on, you Sexy Girl, he thought to the TARDIS and hoped she understood. The faint hum told him she probably did.

Martha looked up at him and let him lead her through the hallway and to the kitchen. Jack patted her hand and wondered how much of an explanation was his to give. 

****  
Rose didn’t stop.

She felt the slight shiver-shake-wobble of the TARDIS dematerializing and knew he was back. She’d raced out of the almost too painful to look at kitchen, Jack one step ahead of her, and headed straight for the console room. When she’d originally jumped into this world, she hadn’t known what to expect—right Doctor? Right time? Right world? She had no idea; it was their first live test with the walls (supposedly) firmly sealed.

But then she and Mickey had used her TARDIS key to boost the canon and give her a better chance of locking into the right Doctor. They hadn’t told Pete, let alone anyone else in Torchwood, had simply done it. Rose hoped Mickey knew it worked and she wasn’t floating in a thousand, thousand conscious pieces through the Void.

She hoped he found a way through, as well. She missed her friend. If she had a chance, slim as it was, she’d try to get a message to him. But right now, all her years of work and tears and fear and hope coalesced into a bright golden ball of need. And want. And unutterable happiness.

And him.

When she saw the kitchen she wondered if it’d been decades since he’d last seen her. Or decades before he would see her. But then Jack was there and his story haunted her and she wanted to cry-rage-comfort him even as they both wondered if this was the right anything. But the TARDIS enveloped her and welcomed her and purred when Jack had called Her his Sexy Old Girl, and Rose doubted this was wrong.

Couldn’t be  
Shouldn’t be  
Oh, please don’t let it be

Her heart pounded and her blood roared in her ears as the hallway blurred past her and then she finally, finally skidded past Jack and in the heartbeat between entering the console room and seeing him, Rose knew he was still hers. She leaped into his arms, his gloriously waiting arms, and wrapped herself around him.

“Rose,” he said again, lips pressed against her neck. “Rose.”

A prayer.  
A hope.  
A fervent entreaty for this not to be a dream.  
Rose knew all that because she wanted-needed-hoped for the same.

“Doctor,” she whispered, lips finding his again. “My Doctor.”

Her name on his lips soothed a broken-jagged-fractured part of her soul that stayed in this world while her body had been trapped in that other. Long slim fingers stroked and heated her skin through her clothing and she shuddered in his arms, tightening around him as if it’d been days not years since she’d last seen him, held him, felt him against her. His mouth tasted her skin and she shivered at the feel of his warm-cool-desperate lips on her neck, her cheek, and finally, finally on her lips.

He tasted the same, like tea and magic and Doctor and with a whimper-sob-moan she opened to him. It had been so long, too painfully long, since she felt his mouth on hers, his body pressed against hers, heard her name fall like an invocation from his lips. Rose opened to him and kissed him back, tongue tasting-exploring-remembering, hands tangled in his hair, breasts pressed to his unyielding chest.

The Doctor’s hands cupped her bum, jerked her closer, hot-want-need and she felt his cock hard against her. Rose pulled back, just enough to see him, to look at him and remember him. Fill in the pieces that had faded over the years. Tears stained his cheeks and hers, but she didn’t care.

Because finally, finally, finally they were tears of joy and hope and home.

“Doctor,” she breathed and kissed him again.

Her hips ground against him, and she didn’t care where they were or who else was on the ship or even that it’d been three years since that cold, desolate bay when she’d last seen him (if Mickey’s calculations were right it had only been three months for him—three months and two weeks, three years and six months for her) and oh his fingers felt sinful against the warm skin of her belly.

Rose pressed tighter to him, felt him take a step, then another, and her back pressed against one of the beautiful coral struts.

“I missed you,” she managed and tried to laugh.

Her throwing herself into his arms may have told him exactly that. He laughed with her, a strained, hoarse sound that ended on a choked sob. Beautiful brown eyes, wet with tears and love and utter amazement met hers, and she pulled back just enough to cup his face and look at him properly.

He looked tired and stressed and older, so much older than even on that Norwegian bay she hated to think of and naturally thought of all the time. His skin was pale, even for him, and his entire body radiated a tension she hadn’t seen in him since they’d first met. A thousand hundred questions bubbled on her tongue but all she knew was him, his arms, his body, his mouth, the faintest of faint brushes of him against her and she shuddered again.

Home.

“Rose.”

Promise.  
Wonder.  
Hope.  
Fear.  
Love.

And then his fingers tugged her bra out of the way and her fingers fumbled with the opening of his trousers. Far from ideal, perfect in its desperation, they managed to unclothe enough that when he thrust into her and she cried out his name on a wave of pleasure, it was absolutely fantastic.

****  
Mine.

The first time he’d felt Rose Tyler’s lips they’d just watched Cassandra splatter across the observation deck and the Earth explode by the ever expanding sun. They’d gone for chips, she’d bought, her hand had nestled snug in his, and she’d pressed her lips to his and gave him that smile and his hearts flipped and he forgot how to speak.

Perfect.

The first time he realized he loved Rose Tyler on a level he’d never known existed, they’d been in a ridiculous cupboard with Harriet Jones in 10 Downing Street, her hand clenched tight in his, and her smile promising that same perfect-right-forever. He’d wanted to kiss her then but Harriet had said something about Hannibal and then they were rocketing through life and death.

Right.

The first time he’d felt her body against his, the last Dalek had just exploded in its final and very human act, they’d brought that stupid boy onboard, and he’d broken down. He’d thought the fifty or so years he’d spent running (travelling) and never looking back had done something to move him beyond the Time War but seeing the enemy again… Rose had wrapped herself around him, held him tight in his bed, and let him sob-rage-hate Daleks, Time Lords. All that and more when he turned that sob-hate-rage against himself.

His.

(I think you need a reminder, she’d said. Gallifrey was home and though everyone leaves home eventually, no one should forget it. What did it look like? And that was when their kitchen was born. Theirs, not simply his, but a warmth that radiated between them and brought him closer to another, far closer than he’d realized existed or could exist or would exist.)

Always.

The first time he’d made love to Rose Tyler, she’d finally and permanently broken things off with Mickey, pulled him to her as if her body had been made especially for his, and they’d danced to the Big Bands. After, with Jack who knew where, he’d taken her to his bedroom and spent the night learning what made her sigh, what made her scream, and what made her forget every word on any language except his name.

Lover-love-adore-worship

The first time he connected with Rose Tyler, they were in 1336 Kyoto, Jack nowhere to be found, just the pair of them in longer than either could remember, and a single flawless moment of ultimate connection. It hadn’t taken Rose long to get over her inhibitions and make love to him with a hundred or so Japanese Samurai sleeping around, and while he had no plan for slipping into her mind, it had happened and both welcomed it.

Bond-promise.  
Mate-lover-soul.  
Whole.  
Mine.  
Yours.  
Complete.

Though all those first different lips kissed hers, different hands explored every curve and hidden treasure, a different body brought her to pleasure, it was still him. Still them. And that was all that mattered. When she’d accepted this him and welcomed him into her bed and her arms and the final wall hiding her heart crumbled and beckoned him to her, it was the second most glorious thing he’d ever felt.

The first was the first night they’d made love. Sappy as it sounded, the Doctor wouldn’t change one moment of their time together.

This was not like any of those times. When he thrust into her home-perfect-forever-love, it was hard and rough and slightly awkward, but it was utter bliss. 

“Rose,” he moaned against her mouth, hands trembling as they held her to him, steadied her against the strut. 

“Yes,” she whimpered, tears and pleasure and joy and need coating the word. “Doctor.”

Her forehead pressed to his, automatically initiating their bond. Longing-loneliness-absence-whole.

Gasp.  
Whimper.  
Sob.  
Growl.  
pleasure.  
Pain.  
Right.  
Right. Right. Right.

****  
Rose screamed his name, her orgasm crashing-breaking-filling her until only they remained. The Doctor moved, thrust into her in a frantic rhythm she embraced and welcomed and completely understood as they joined and raced and held tight.

Her skin sang, her body raced for completion, her mind-soul-heart embraced him and she soared. Her teeth sank into the soft spot between his neck and shoulder as she shuddered around him. She heard him growl, felt his possessiveness envelop her and welcomed it. Him. Them.

When she opened her eyes again, they were lying on the grating, half undressed, her body cooling, one leg thrown over his to keep him closer, ever closer, her head resting against his shoulder. Her spot. Content for the first time in years, Rose moved only enough to press her lips to his chest and breathe in the scent of Doctor, Rose, love, sex.

The fingers of one hand twined tightly with hers, his other stroking down her arm. Though they weren’t still connected through their bond, Rose could still feel the remnants of him holding her closely.

“I’m home.”

She hadn’t realized she’d said it aloud until he jerked, pulled her fully atop him, and kissed her hard.

“Rose,” he said again, the only thing he’d managed since she’d run into his arms. “How?”


	3. Chapter 3

“So, do you like traveling with the Doctor?” Jack asked as he made tea.

Rose had taught him how, and while he’d never truly found a taste for tea, he could appreciate a cuppa now and then. More so now, trapped in the past (or was that his present now?) than before. In his future (or was that his past?)

Tenses were so very _difficult_.

He’d never had this problem when he worked with the Time Agency, not even when he and John had been caught in that temporal loop. Ahh, those were some great days; sex, sex, and more sex. Except now Jack felt empty when he thought about it. Maybe that was why things with Angelo had crashed so very drastically. Emotions. Not his strong point.

Messy  
Bitter  
Polite  
Nasty  
And sometimes, all-encompassing and complete and absolute and whole.

“Um, not sure.” Martha hadn’t relaxed much, even with her fingers thawing around the warm mug.

She still had that dazed look, her eyes darting to the kitchen doorway every now and then, but she sat still and let him talk and make their tea and hadn’t questioned him. Oh, Jack could see the questions bubbling to be asked, but she’d waited. He liked that about her, the observant look she had, the way she bided her time.

“A couple days I think?” She shook her head and took another sip of tea. “This is really good,” she said, meeting his gaze head on.

“Thanks.” Jack smiled at her and turned to start on the pizza.

He had no idea how to make pizza, he’d never tried, had had on real reason to. Whenever he or Rose had a craving, the Doctor had taken them to 25th Century Pizza Planet. Hmm, what was the real name of that place? He couldn’t remember—Rose had called it Pizza Planet and the name had stuck.

“Time travel is tough,” he added sympathetically as he found a round pan miraculously in the first cabinet he opened. “You see all these great places and meet these fascinating people and suddenly you’re home and 12 hours have passed. When did you meet the Doctor?”

Home, he was finally home and he still couldn’t believe it. Sixty-one years he’d waited for that feeling to envelope him again. But it still felt off. And he still had such anger and betrayed rage at the Doctor. But the TARDIS hummed soothingly in the depths of his very soul and eased his mind. All he needed now was Winston purring as he twined around his feet.

Coming home.

Jack glanced at his wrist where the still-useless Vortex Manipulator lay strapped. He never went anywhere without it. The only component that still worked was the DNA coding, so even Torchwood hadn’t been able to pry it off his (cold, dead) body. No matter how often they’d killed him.

Shuddering at the memory (memories just what the hell had happened?) he returned his attention to the beautiful woman with him.

Martha’s dark eyes bore into his back but Jack didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge that she knew he was interrogating her. Not interrogating, questioning. Oh, but she was good. No wonder the Doctor traveled with her.

“I know the day and date,” Martha said finally. “But it really doesn’t mean anything in the TARDIS, does it?” He heard her take another sip, but still didn’t look at her as he opened the fridge to find fresh dough.

_Oh, I love you, you Sexy Old Girl!_

The TARDIS hummed at him and he smiled, taking the dough out and plopping it onto the counter. He pulled the rolling pin from the drawer and began to work the dough. A small container of flour appeared beside him and Jack sheepishly sprinkled some over both dough and counter, sending another wave of gratitude toward the ship.

“No,” he agreed. “Time travel isn’t something you keep track of with a normal calendar.”

“The hospital I work at was taken to the moon.”

Jack did turn sharply then and stared at her. Martha smiled, a cross between knowing how to start a good story and knowing she now had his full attention. “That night, after the Judoon and this shape shifting on the inside creature, he offered me a trip. We went to see Shakespeare. Defeated a couple of witches, went to New Earth in like the year five billion…then here.”

She frowned and shook her head. Jack wondered what they’d done here, but she was already moving on. Martha stood and leaned against the counter, fingers still wrapped around her mug, eyes trained on his face.

“What about you, Captain? How did you get in here? Where did you come from? Who are you?”

There were dozens of other questions he saw burning in her dark eyes, not about him specifically, but about him, Rose, the Doctor, everything. He looked at her, really looked at her, and for a heartbeat Jack found himself drowning in Martha’s gaze. Then he blinked and shook himself. Huh, that hadn’t happened in ages, no matter how he told time.

Jack wondered if it was a _Doctor’s Companion_ thing.

Rose was special ( _Rose, you are worth fighting for_.) and the Doctor was special ( _Wish I'd never met you Doctor. I was much better off as a coward._ ) ( _See you in hell._ ) What they had given him (home) aside, Jack had never felt a connection to anyone since…since (Gray, mom, dad). And even now, this odd bond he felt with Martha wasn’t like that.

Huh.

“Middle of The Blitz,” he admitted and rolled out the dough as he told her the story.

He didn’t mention anything about the Doctor he’d originally known or ask her his many, many questions about the man he saw in the console room, the man who was most definitely not the Doctor he’d known. But Rose seemed to (and knew him on the same level she’d known the Doctor Jack remembered, too) and for now that was good enough for him. For now.

“What kind of toppings would you like?” he asked as he greased the pan.

Martha opened the fridge and pulled out green peppers. She washed them and began cutting them up as Jack tried to find a topic that wasn’t directly Doctor and Rose related. Difficult that. He ended up asking her about her career and let her do the talking.

Let her voice wash over him as she told him the minutia of her every day life.  
Let her words ease a knot tightening within him over unanswered (and unasked) questions.  
Let her laughter fill a void he hadn’t realized existed.  
Let her smile warm his.

By the time the pizza was in the oven, Martha had relaxed and was smiling and laughing with him as they sat on the high wrought iron chairs around the stone and wrought iron table with the bright lights and heavy feeling kitchen. He didn’t comment on it.

“Yeah, my mum’s a little…” she tilted her head and he knew she tried to think of a way to describe her mum that was flattering yet honest. “Intense. She wants us to have brilliant careers, but she’s very…” again the pause. “Intense.”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed quietly and suddenly wished for a drink. He settled for the iced tea Martha had made and sipped it absently.

“Did you travel with them long?” Martha asked.

They’d come full circle then. The Doctor and Rose had been busy, and he’d not bothered to even venture back down the hallway and into the console room. If this Doctor was anything like the last, before Jack could make his apologies (or as apologetic as he ever got with the sly grin and suggestive wink) he’d been dangling out the doors with a firsthand look at the Horsehead Nebula as they rocketed past.

“Not long,” he admitted. “Just long enough to get into trouble.” 

His attempt at humor fell flat and he cleared his throat of the thick emotion clogging it.

Daleks.  
Goodbye.  
I love you both.  
I’ll miss you both.  
You, too, you Sexy Girl.  
I never wanted to be a damn hero.

Clearing his throat, he changed the subject again and told Martha about a few of his travels. She hadn’t asked what he was doing in 1930 New York, but he attributed that to her fledging understanding of time travel rather than anything else. Jack needed to talk to the Doctor first. Figure out what happened.

But he didn’t want to lie to Martha, either. Interesting.

****  
“I looked,” he swore, hands tight on her arms. “Even now I have the TARDIS scanning for cracks between the universes.”

Rose lay splayed over him as she’d told her story. Nights and days and months spent working to find a way back to him. While he hadn’t been able to so much as find a crack between universes.

Guilt  
Remorse  
Self-reproach  
Unutterable happiness

She’d found him. Once again, she’d found him. The Doctor crushed her to him, held her as if the Void opened (had-would-threatened to) again. Rose’s lips pressed to his chest, his throat, his shoulder, any place she could reach and it was only after several moments he realized she repeated the same things over and over.

“I know. I know you did. I know.”

Eventually he loosened his arms around her. Eventually he sat up, fingers lingering over bare flesh as if to test whether she was real or not. Eventually they dressed.

“What happened to the kitchen?” Rose asked quietly as she did up his tie. She didn’t meet his gaze, her heart beating loudly, her fingers stiff as they straightened the silk material

His hearts flipped at the move, one she’d done every morning since he started wearing ties. Then he heard her question and he froze-stopped-stiffened as he realized what she may have thought when she saw the remodel. Such as it was. He hadn’t cared when he’d begged his ship to change the kitchen, broken and torn and shredded beyond recognition.

Unable to look at their home any longer. Wondering when She had ceased feeling his and started being theirs. Hating that he felt so uncomfortable in his-their-her home and that he felt so tense in Her, with Her, all without Rose.

“Right before I—” his voice cracked and he swallowed hard against the heartbreaking emotion threatening to once more swallow him whole despite the fact Rose was _here_ and in _his_ arms and touching _him_ , both hands spread over both hearts.

She did meet his gaze then, and understanding softened her gaze. _Ah_ , she mouthed quietly, fingers curling into his shirt.

“Before I found…before…” he swallowed again. “I was broken. Didn’t sleep, searched for a way to get you back.” The words hurt to say, even now ripped at his soul. “Had gone in for a cup of tea…”

(Winston sulked through the hallways, avoided him, ignored him, condemned him. No more than he deserved. _I miss her, too, Winston._ )

The Doctor cupped her face and pressed his forehead to hers, unable to speak, to remember, to relive those days and weeks and interminable hours without her. Their bond was at its strongest when they were intimate, but touching as they were, even after the separation, he knew he’d be able to show her what had happened.

( _Please don’t make me see this_ , he’d begged the ship. _I can’t go on…I miss her so much…I don’t want to see this kitchen any more, not without her. Our kitchen. Our home._ And She’d mourned with a wailing hum of agreement while he’d crashed to his knees, hair a mess, tears staining his cheeks, eyes burning with determination and loss and frantic hope and blackness. Utter blackness that consumed him with every second that ticked by without her.)

Rose drew in a shuddering gasp and pulled back. “Doctor,” she whispered. Mouth pressed to his, fingers tangling around his.

He felt her own tears and pulled back, gently wiping them from her cheeks. “Rose,” he murmured. “My Rose. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry, Rose. It tears at my hearts to see you cry.”

“I’m back now, yeah?” She said in a stronger whisper and took his proffered handkerchief. Wiping her face and blowing her nose, she took one final moment to lean into him before pulling back. “And I’m not leaving you again.”

He smiled then, a slow stretch of his lips that felt unnatural and yet oh so right at the same time. Easy. Comfortable. Relaxed. “Yeah,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her.

Holding her close.  
Never letting her go.  
Unable to let her out of his sight. 

“Let’s go see what Jack’s been up to,” Rose whispered against his next, arms tight around him, holding him to her with equal fervor. She pulled back, just enough to walk beside him.

“Jack?”

He stopped dead, fingers still tight on hers so Rose had no choice but to stop as well. That was the blinding pain he’d felt. Well not so blinding any more, not since Rose had raced into his arms. But even now he felt it, the throbbing wrongness that had followed him since landing in New York. It hadn’t been his TARDIS telling him Rose had returned. It’d been Jack’s return.

“Yes.” She turned and now her eyes blazed with fire. “And I think, Doctor, you owe us both an explanation.”

Sheepish, he ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah, okay.” The Doctor closed his eyes and sighed. Now that he knew where the pain came from, it was easier to control it. He’d need time, though. Time to acclimate to Jack’s presence.

Time to form the words that made up an apology and explanation and reason.

“And to Martha,” he added. Squeezed her hand, wanted to feel her body pressed tightly against his, might never let her out of his sight again.

“Who’s Martha?” Rose asked.

Jealous  
Wary  
Possessive  
Gratified

“Met her on the moon,” he said with a smile. “On the moon with a platoon of Judoon. You’ll like her, she’s brilliant!”

There was a flash of the insecure woman he’d seen after (France, Reinette) but then she seemed to relax and smile. Her fingers tightened around his and she rested her head on his shoulder, just like always.

No, he’d never let her go again.


	4. Chapter 4

“I really want you two to be friends,” the Doctor said.

Rose looked at him askance and wondered what had happened between Norway and now. “Alright,” she said as calmly as she could. The reality was far different.

_Jealousy_  
Heart clenching, blood freezing jealousy  
 _Possessive_  
Mouth on his, teeth marking possessiveness  
 _Fear_  
Stomach tightening, breath stealing fear

But the old insecurities resurfaced the instant he mentioned Martha, and Rose still couldn’t quite pinpoint why. It wasn’t that she was afraid the second she was gone (trapped, white walls, _take me back!_ And Mickey and her mum’s promise: _Rose, I promise we’ll find a way_ ) she expected him to move on. Find another lover.

Another companion, okay. Once she got over her (jealousy, fear, possessiveness) Rose admitted that the Doctor travelling with people was for the best. He really was rubbish on his own.

And no one greeted a forgotten lover like he had welcomed her into his arms. ( _Rose. My Rose. You’re back. It tears at my hearts to see you cry._ )

So she released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked down the hallway toward the kitchen she hated. She kept her feelings to herself, given what he’d shown her about the change.

She’d almost lost him.

Rose swallowed the fear-panic-horror over the memory of what he’d shown her ( _I can’t go on…I miss her so much…_ ) and wondered if it’d been Martha who had helped him through it. They hadn’t talked, she hadn’t told him about the Cannon’s short out or Mickey or anything about how she’d really managed to punch her way back. Or the mystery of the stars.

Three years of her life, three months of his. And she wanted to know everything. Every single moment no matter how heart wrenching and solitary and utterly alone it was. Because despite her mum and Mickey and Pete, Rose had felt the same.

“She’s good, yeah?” Rose asked as they slowed their already slow pace the closer they got to the kitchen. She wanted to ask more—why he’d chosen her, what she meant to him, but refused to be petty only a few hours after returning.

“Oh, yes,” the Doctor said with that smile he reserved for only the best. “She’s brilliant.”

“Good.” Rose nodded, tried her best to push her insecurities aside (Lynda with a Y, Sarah Jane, Reinette).

He squeezed her fingers and she looked up at him, not having realized she’d looked away as she tried to convince herself she was stronger, better, more confident than she’d been. His smile softened, the one he reserved solely for her, and he leaned down.

“Rose,” he said, lips brushing hers.

“I’ve missed you. More than I can ever say.” she replied though they both knew that hadn’t been the question.

For now, it was enough.

“I’ve missed you, too, love.” The Doctor drew back, his hand cupping her cheek, his eyes dark in the dim lighting.  
****  
“There I am,” Jack said with a wide grin.

Martha was already laughing. Or still laughing. Captain Jack Harkness certainly had a way with a story. She didn’t believe half of what he said, maybe not even a quarter, but she laughed. And was absurdly grateful for the distraction. This wasn’t his first story; he’d regaled her with interesting anecdotes for the last half hour or so, since he put his homemade pizza into the oven.

And she’d relaxed around him. The tea helped, as did the fact that Jack was incredibly easy to talk with. And laugh with.

“Naked and running from the biggest purplest thing I’d ever seen,” Jack continued and Martha really wanted to call him on this story but didn’t want this bubble to burst. “He, or she, or it, had this crazy horn sticking out of its forehead.”

No one told a story like Jack Harkness.

“Jack, stop.”

Martha looked up; her smile instantly vanished and the tension she’d felt tightening around her heart squeezed firmly once more. Bugger.

“I’m just telling Martha here about our trip to Heliotropious,” Jack said casually.

It didn’t fool her. She’d just spent the last hour or so in his company and had seen him go from tense and ready to relaxed and amusing. He was back at the tense and ready part. But her gaze rested on the blonde. The one firmly holding the Doctor’s hand in hers, her head resting on his shoulder as if it belonged there.

As if that shoulder was created especially for her head and no one else’s.

Which was ridiculous and Martha wondered when she’d moved from devoting her life to science to watching someone with such a romantically fanciful thought. Probably about the time she was transported by a platoon of Judoon onto the moon. Or when she’d stepped into the TARDIS and realized it was bigger on the inside.

She swallowed her bitter jealousy, the taste all too familiar in these past weeks, and tore her gaze from the woman. Rose. Martha supposed she had to start referring to her as Rose and not as _oh her_ all the time.

Easier thought than done.

“Hi,” Rose—not oh her—said with a smile. “I’m Rose.”

Martha nodded and stood, accepting the outstretched hand. She swallowed the nasty _Yes, I damn well know who you are_ comment and tried her best to return the smile. She thought she mostly succeeded. At least Rose didn’t look at her dubiously. Curious-interested-jealous. Just a little jealous.

Somehow, that didn’t make Martha feel better at all.

“Martha Jones.” She swallowed another caustic reply (and wondered when she’d gone from peacemaker to instigator and why she hated the other woman when she’d never actually met Rose until five seconds ago) and said in a lighter tone she hadn’t known she could manage,

“Jack’s made us pizza.” She returned to her seat and watched the other woman. “Should be nearly finished. Would you like a slice?”

Rose grinned, her eyes lightening up with delight and she (rather reluctantly from Martha’s view) released the Doctor’s hand to round the table. The Doctor curled his fingers into fists and shoved them into his pockets, a panicked-anxious-apprehensive look of bereft on his face.

It broke Martha’s heart.

“I didn’t know you could cook!” Rose exclaimed as she opened the oven.

She frowned at the appliance for a moment then shrugged. Martha wondered what that was about but didn’t think she’d ever really know. The Doctor didn’t talk about the past (except for a rather poetic description of Gallifrey) so talking about Rose’s confusion over the oven? She’d never get that answer.

“I picked up a few things over the years.” Jack’s voice was hard and for the first time Martha glimpsed someone else beneath the handsome, charming man who made her laugh.

Suddenly reminded of all the fights she’d tried to stop between her parents, the tension between her mum and them if they took her dad’s side or the knots in her stomach at the thought of a family gathering, Martha tried to leave. But it was damned difficult when one needed to hop off the ridiculously high chair.

She could have done that a tad more gracefully and so much more quietly, she thought when all eyes zeroed in on her.

“I’ll just take my pizza to the library,” she said, looking directly at Jack.

Something in his startlingly blue gaze shifted and he relaxed. “No,” he said with a shadow of his charming smile. “No need.”

“He’s right,” the Doctor said in a brusque voice, dividing his gaze between Rose, who still hadn’t moved from the stove, and Jack who now semi-reclined in his chair, arms folded over his chest. “No need to leave.”

Martha couldn’t hear what Rose said, but she mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like _Fireworks are best observed in a group anyway_ as she grabbed two potholders and eased the pizza tray from the oven. She tried not to, really she did, but Martha found her lips twitching into a smile. She crossed to the cabinet with the plates, grabbed four, then stood next to Rose as the other woman cut and dished out the steaming, gooey pizza.

“What fireworks?” Martha asked, then promptly pressed her lips together. Damn. She hadn’t meant to ask.

But Rose looked over at her with a secretive smile and a quick sideways glance at the men, now sitting rigidly at the table. “What did you and Jack talk about while the Doctor and I…” she trailed off with a blush and quickly cleared her throat. “Um…while you and he were in here?”

Martha resisted the jealous-mean and yet amused-entertained laugh. She’d felt a lot of things in her life, but never so much all at once. Clearing her throat, she held out the second plate and watched Rose curiously.

“How I came to travel with the Doctor,” she said, wondering if she looked for envy or understanding or even confusion. Any? All? “Then a few of his stories. He’s a great storyteller, Jack is.”

Rose laughed and cast another fond look at the table, where the tension had only increased. “Yeah, he is. And always naked in them,” she added with a saucy wink.

Snickering, Martha allowed herself a moment before she asked, “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Rose admitted and set the spatula down. “I thought…well, I thought he was a few hundred thousand years in the future.”

“Oh.” Martha had nothing else to say to that. Really, not a single word. Nodding, as if that all made perfect sense, she picked up two dishes and set them on the table, Jack at one end, the Doctor at the other, as far from each other as they could manage.

Suddenly she had no real desire to sit in the middle of them. Returning to the counter, she leaned against it, picked up her own plate, and decided to stay safely away from the fireworks.

****  
Jack waited. He’d waited decades, then another hour, but suddenly, with the women staying as far from the table as they could manage (he didn’t blame them but was slightly hurt Rose wasn’t there even if he was slightly glad neither took sides in what was sure to be a fun-filled pissing contest) and still be in listening distance, he needed answers.

Letting the pizza cool, and really it didn’t look bad if he did say so himself, he watched the Doctor. He looked younger, physically, but there was a tautness around his eyes and mouth that spoke of grief. His eyes were heavier, brown now but just as old and burdened as the blue eyes Jack had once known.

“Good to see you,” Jack started as nonchalantly as he could manage.

He failed miserably and wondered when he’d got so bad at it. He used to be able to charm the masses, hide every single emotion behind a smile and a wink. (Home-acceptance-love-family) Feigning that same nonchalance, he picked up his pizza slice and bit into it. Huh. It was pretty good.

“And you.” The Doctor nodded at him, ignoring the pizza. “Same as ever. Although, have you had work done?”

Behind him, Jack heard Rose gasp. But she remained silent. As observant as always, his Rosie. Smart, too, to stay out of this. “You can talk.”

For a heart beat (hearts beats) the Doctor looked confused then offered a half-grin. He picked up his pizza and bit into it, letting the silence stretch as he chewed. “Oh yes, the face.” He shrugged as if the answer wasn’t a big deal. “Regeneration.”

Rose whimpered now, and Jack turned to face her. He needed answers, but he still trusted the Doctor. Well, trusted him not to stab him in the back. Although, from the look on Rose’s face, maybe that he should be worried.

She met his gaze and shook her head, eyes shattered-horrified-devastated. It took him a minute, but Jack gathered she didn’t shake her head in the negative, but in denial. Nightmare. Horrific sadness. What the hell had happened? Her hand trembled as she gripped the counter and suddenly Jack had a feeling there was more to the story than he wanted to know.

He looked to Martha, saw her concern and mustered a wink. She smiled weakly back and nibbled on a slice of green pepper.

Before he could ask more—why the regeneration, was that what he thought it was, what happened after, what happened to the Daleks, why had the Doctor left, why hadn’t they returned—a black and white blur streaked past him and leapt onto the counter.

“Winston!” Rose exclaimed and picked up the black ball of fur, crushing the now hissing cat to her chest. “Oh, I’ve missed you.”

“You have a cat?” Martha asked. She sounded as dumfounded as she looked.

She met Jack’s gaze, looked at Winston who now sat on the counter, purring beneath Rose’s fingers, then to the Doctor. “You have a cat?” she repeated in a stronger voice, accusation-shock-wonder in her tone.

“Winston,” Rose said, face next to Winston’s as the animal rubbed her cheek with his white-tipped nose. One white paw batted her hand affectionately. “We found him in 1941 during The Blitz. He was in the alley we parked the TARDIS. The Doctor brought him home.”

The Doctor, for his part, humphed in irritation. “ _I_ didn’t bring him home,” he said with a distasteful look on his face Jack couldn’t remember seeing before. New Doctor, he supposed. New taste in on-board pets?

(Jack walked into the library, slightly restless, slightly tired, slightly wired. He wanted a book or a diversion or something, he just wasn’t sure what. Turing a corner between 62nd Century poetry and 17th Century philosophy, he saw them on the couch, both sound asleep. Rose curled against the Doctor, head on his chest, hand over his second heart, one leg thrown over his. The Doctor’s arms held her close beneath the afghan. Winston curled in a tight ball on the Doctor’s chest. All three looked perfectly content.)

“He followed us home,” the Doctor added with a shrug.

“I—” Martha looked between Winston and Jack before settling her gaze on the Doctor. “But I thought you didn’t like cats.”

“I don’t,” the Doctor said with a frown and uncomfortable shift. “You wouldn’t either after they try to kill you.”

Jack wanted to know more about that, but still hadn’t got one answer to his questions. Well, maybe one—the Doctor knew what had happened to him, or at least the consequence of what had happened to him. (Exterminate-exterminate-exterminate- _You sent her home. She's safe. Keep working._ But he will exterminate you! _Never doubted him, never will._ )

“You didn’t know about Winston?” Jack asked instead as Rose offered the cat a string of cheese from her slice of pizza. (Exterminate-exterminate-exterminate- _I kind of figured that._ )

Mutely, Martha shook her head. Jack saw the hurt and anger and betrayal and resignation in her gaze before she dropped her eyes to her plate and bit into her pizza.

“You haven’t?” Rose asked, blinking as she looked from Martha to the Doctor and back again.

“Ah, well,” the Doctor drew out each word, so very different from the gruff, short Doctor Jack knew. The other man tugged on is ear and at least looked abashed. “He was hiding.”

“Hiding?” this was from Martha, not Rose as Jack expected. She nodded and shrugged, and Jack knew she’d done the same—hid and got lost in the TARDIS.

“Hiding,” the Doctor sighed. “Ever since…well, ever since…” he swallowed hard and blinked and Jack swore he blinked back tears along with the emotion heavy in his brown eyes, making them darker.

The Doctor looked from Jack to Rose and held her gaze. “Ever since,” he repeated, but didn’t elaborate. “He hasn’t much liked me.”

“Oh.” Rose’s voice was quiet and small and she pushed off the counter.

She crossed the room to where the Doctor still sat at the table, his half-eaten slice of pizza forgotten. Winston lay happily cradled in her one arm as she stood before the Doctor and wrapped her free arm around him.

Jack sighed and picked at his own pizza, appetite forgotten. Shame. It was damn good pizza, too. He gave them a minute; from what Rose had said (Daleks, Cybermen, Void, Alternate world, Trapped) maybe this wasn’t the best time.

Was there ever a best time? How did one demand answers for being abandoned? At least he knew Rose hadn’t been a part of that abandonment. But to know the Doctor had... And now, even when he did look at him, Jack saw the revulsion the other man tried to hide.

It turned his stomach to know they’d gone from (family-home-acceptance) to this. Whatever the hell _this_ was.

“So,” Jack said and wished for a beer. Standing, he walked to the fridge and grabbed one. Had it been there before? Jack couldn’t remember but thanked the TARDIS just in case. He grabbed one for Martha, too. She looked like someone had sucker punched her. Silently handing the bottle to her, he resumed his seat.

Rose leaned against the Doctor, eyes damp, and Jack hated that he felt this unrelenting need to break up their reunion for answers. But he pushed that aside, had to. He needed to know what had happened to him. What happened to his family.

“There I was,” he began and took a long pull from his beer. “Stranded in the year 200,100 on some God forsaken space station, ankle deep in Dalek dust, and he goes off without me.”

Martha gasped and Jack knew it was at his mention of the Daleks and hated she’d met the Daleks and wondered what had happened to have her meet the Daleks. Damn things. They _never_ died! Jack didn’t look at her, but heard her move to the table. She set her plate and beer next to him and pulled a chair up.

“Stranded?” she asked instead.

He was absurdly pleased with her support as he watched the Doctor not look at him. Rose tried to pull away, but the Doctor tightened his grip on her hand. Jack didn’t blame him and knew it’d be a long, long while before the other man was comfortable letting Rose out of his sight.

“Yup,” Jack said with another drink of his beer. “But I had this.” He looked at the Doctor as he held up his Vortex Manipulator and watched the Doctor flinch. He’d explain it to Martha later, but added for her sake, “He's not the only one who can time travel.”

“Jack,” Rose whispered. She released a still purring Winston onto the floor (who was not happy and leaped onto the strangely high table, settling himself against her fingers) and looked like she was going to be sick.

“Oh, excuse me,” the Doctor said and despite the differences in expression and accent, sounded exactly the same as the man Jack had known. “That is not time travel. It's like, I've got a sports car and you've got a space hopper.”

“Doctor,” Rose muttered and pulled away from him. “Don’t.”

Sending her a grateful look, Jack calmed. His voice lost its overly engaging edge and he didn’t feel like he was floating-falling-crashing any more. “Tried for the 21st century.” He shrugged and finished his beer. “Best place to find the Doctor, right?”

He directed this statement to Rose who looked pale. But she nodded—it was her time, and if any Doctor was going to know who Jack was, that was the best time.

The Doctor said nothing. He still maintained his death grip on Rose and still looked at his plate and frankly, he also looked a little pale. His freckles stood out in stark relief and Jack was about to make a comment on that but realized it was more of a snark than joke.

Angry  
Hurt  
Wounded

“What happened?” Martha asked quietly.

“I got it a little wrong,” Jack admitted with a frown. Emotion closed his throat and he wondered where all his impassive involvement went. “Arrived in 1869, this thing burnt out.” He tapped his wrist. “So it was useless.”

He saw Rose jerk as if she recognized the time. He wondered why, but would ask later.

“Told you,” the Doctor said, but it lacked the bite Jack expected. Instead the words were quiet and almost—almost—sorrowful.

“How,” Rose started, stopped, and swallowed hard. “How did you end up here? New York, 1930?”

“I had to live through each year,” he told her equally quiet. “Didn’t expect this. Expected to live through the entire twentieth century waiting for a version of you,” he nodded at the Doctor, “that would coincide with me. Got lucky, I guess.”

Bitter  
Acrimonious  
Sour  
Injured  
Ache  
Hurt

“But that makes you more than one hundred years old.” Martha’s voice sounded shocked and a little choked and Jack nearly smiled that he was one of the wonders in her brave new world.

In fact, he winked at her. “And looking good, don't you think?”

“Doctor,” Rose said and stepped away. She looked from Jack to the Doctor then back again. Jack saw her swallow hard and uncurl her fingers from the Doctor’s.

Braced, waiting, stomach in knots, heart racing too fast, Jack leaned forward. He didn’t want Rose to ask the question. It wasn’t hers to ask.

“What happened to me?” he demanded, all pretense of his charming façade gone. “Why can’t I die? And why did you leave me stranded on that stupid station?”


	5. Chapter 5

“Why can’t I die? And why did you leave me stranded on that stupid station?”

Stranded.  
Abandoned.  
Deserted.  
Alone.  
Lonely.

The Doctor knew those words, those _emotions_ , intimately. He understood them on a visceral level and understood Jack to know them as well. Had condemned his (friend-family) to a life he, himself, feared. (Friends-companions- _assistants_ -lovers. Lover.)

Despite the man’s charm-allure-magnetism, Jack was just as lonely as the Doctor had been pre-Rose. (Post-Rose, too, but now certainly wasn’t the time to think about how lonely-alone-lonesome he’d grown even with Martha here or how even Winston abandoned him.)

“Stranded?” Rose croaked out.

She looked at him, the Doctor felt her eyes, accusation and reproach and blame in her beautiful gaze. He looked up, his hand empty now that she stood on the other side of the table, not beside Jack, but somewhere in between. As if uncertain if she should take sides and if so, whose.

“What do you mean,” she asked, voice rasping out the words. “Stranded?”

“Doctor?” Jack asked, cool and waiting.

He’d often thought about what he’d say to Jack if (when) they met again. Apologize? Probably. Tell him about Rose (he’d barely told Rose everything, only the basics of her time as Time)? Maybe. But now, with Jack’s cool accusations and desperate hope and Rose’s shock and despair and confusion as she stood so very far away after he’d just got her back, he realized he might have to say everything.

Releasing a breath in a huff and scrubbing his (empty-grasping) hand down his face, he looked at Rose then to Jack. He did owe his friend (family) an explanation.

“Rose.”

His lover sucked in a breath. He looked at her: eyes wide, face pale, fingers clutching the back of the chair until her knuckles whitened. “What?” the word was barely audible and she swayed.

The Doctor jumped from his chair and rounded the table in a heartsbeat, catching her though he doubted she’d actually faint. “Sit down,” he murmured, and yanked out the chair, gently guiding her to sit. She did so without argument, still looking at him for an explanation.

He looked back to Jack, who looked as pale and unsteady as Rose did. The Doctor stayed by Rose’s chair, retook her hand, and felt somewhat steadier himself for the contact. She didn’t push him away, instead clung to his hand as he did to hers. The Doctor might never let her go again.

“What do you remember, Rose?” he asked, eyes on her though no less aware of Jack’s burning gaze. “From our time on the satellite and the Emperor?”

“Only what you told me,” she admitted in a quiet voice. Her gaze jumped from his to Jack’s and back again. Never settling. Pained.

( _What happened?_ She’d asked long after his regeneration, not long after they slept together (again, for the first time as this him). _Why did you regenerate? You never said._ And he’d offer half truths and mostly lies and never brought Jack up and hoped she wouldn’t, either.)

“That I looked into the heart of the TARDIS and took in the Time Vortex. I…we…disintegrated all the Daleks,” she added and swallowed thickly. Jack didn’t breathe. “You never said…you didn’t say…” she shook her head and looked to Jack. “I didn’t know.”

“I sent her home,” the Doctor said to both of them. All three of them, though Martha looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but there. “I did send her home, but you know Rose.” He squeezed her hand, thumb running over the backs of her icy knuckles. “She found a way back.”

“Mum got this truck,” Rose said softly, and when he looked down he saw a distant look in her eyes. “I don’t remember where. But she, Mickey, and I managed to get the TARDIS open. I…” again she shook her head. “I don’t know what happened. It’s like it’s locked now and I can’t access it. I only know what I was thinking and that was to get back.” She paused and looked up at him, lips curling into a ghost of a smile. “Back to you.”

Jack made a noise in the back of his throat that the Doctor couldn’t quite decipher—pain-realization-hope-grief-laughter. But he did notice the other man relax a fraction.

“And you did,” the Doctor said with a laugh that was more a strained sound of animalistic pain than any real mirth. His free hand rubbed the back of his neck but he straightened and looked back to Jack.

“She broke open the heart of the TARDIS, absorbed the Time Vortex, wiped every last stinkin’ Dalek out of the sky, and…” he jerked his head in Jack’s direction though he hadn’t taken his eyes from Jack’s shocked blue gaze.

Only Winston made a sound, content as if their conversation mattered little to him as Martha continued to rub her hand down his back. The rest of the room held their collective breaths.

“She brought you back.” The Doctor swallowed the terror-awe-lust-love that nearly overwhelmed him at the memory of Rose standing there fire and light and power and _goddess_ and he’d never seen anything more beautiful or more terrifying and tried to finish.

“You brought him back to life,” he said, to Rose, gaze on Jack. The pounding in his head had lessened to a manageable throb the longer he was around Jack, looked at the man. “But you couldn't control it.” The Doctor shook his head, voice soft now, hand tight around Rose’s. “You brought Jack back forever. That's something, I suppose,” he sighed, looking down at her. “The final act of the Time War was life.”

“I’m sorry,” Rose choked out as the same time Jack said the same words in the same tone.

The Doctor had the feeling that if Jack had realized what had happened, he’d never have brought it up in front of Rose. Never put her in the position she was now, knowing what she’d done to him. Out of love and life and hope and humanness.

“She loved you enough to want you alive,” the Doctor said and still couldn’t begrudge Rose her love of Jack (family-friend).

“I don’t remember,” she admitted in that same choked sobbing voice.

Martha silently handed her a tissue and just as silently moved back to the counter where Winston impatiently waited for her return. The cat purred as Martha resumed absently stroking a hand down his back and for an unreasonable moment the Doctor wanted to scowl at both her and the animal. But it wasn’t Martha’s fault Winston chose to hide and it wasn’t her fault the Doctor had never so much as mentioned Winston.

Jack stood and rounded the table. With a quick glance at the Doctor, expression blank, he tugged Rose to her feet and wrapped her in his arms.

Hand empty of hers again, the Doctor shoved his hands into his pockets. Tense, braced, he waited for the explosion of anger. Rose wasn’t one to let things go, especially something like this. Eventually she laughed at Jack’s murmured joke about not living without him and turned in the other man’s arms to face him.

“Is that why you lied?” she demanded, eyes still damp but fierce and voice harsh and yet understanding. “You told me he was rebuilding Earth after the Daleks.”

He’d also told her he sang a song and the Daleks had disappeared. But the Doctor didn’t mention that.

“I thought he might be,” the Doctor admitted with a faint shrug. Then he sighed and tugged his ear. “Didn’t think he’d try to get back to here.”

Unspoken accusations lay between them—of course Jack would try to get back to them the only way he had at his disposal; why couldn’t we have helped him; he’s family; why would you think it was okay to leave him? And so, so may more.

“Rose,” he said softly, “you were dying. And then I was regenerating.” He shook his head and stepped closer to the pair. “Jack’s now a fixed point; he can’t die; now I can feel his timelines all messed up and… _hard_. Like a permanent point no matter what.” He stopped and added in a whisper, “ _Rose_ , I needed you safe.”

All the anger and fight went out of her in a rush of breath. Her eyes softened and though she didn’t step away from Jack, she looked at him as if she might forgive him instead of yell and hit him. But it wasn’t Rose who spoke first, it was Jack.

“Good.” Jack nodded once and just like that, the Doctor felt the anger and resentment and grief and every other emotion Jack had every right to feel disappear. “And I’m glad you kept her safe. I’d rather you did that then…” he trailed off and pressed his lips to Rose’s temple.

The flair of jealousy surprised him, but then the Doctor supposed it shouldn’t have. Jack and Rose had always been affectionate and after he’d accepted it, after Rose had laid into him over that jealousy and then proceeded to show him who she loved (and in passionate, vivid detail), he’d never really felt it again.

Until now.

But he’d just got her back. Just got her back and hadn’t been prepared for the emotional overload of seeing her again, feeling her again. Let alone the addition of Jack and the explanation that had entailed.

Questions bubbled on the tip of his tongue over her return, the hows and whens and wheres (never the whys) and what had happened to her on the other side of that horrible wall. But all he really wanted to do was take her to their room (he’d slept in the console room, in the kitchen, slumped against the hallway outside their bedroom door, anywhere but in their bed. Alone. Without her.) And rediscover every glorious, delicious inch of her luscious body. Thinner now. Harder. No less beautiful than the first time he’d tasted her.

The Doctor held out his hand to Rose, who didn’t hesitate to take it. He nodded to Jack as Rose’s lips brushed the other man’s. Neither looked back.

“You could have said…” Rose began, head on his shoulder, fingers around his. He could still feel her anger but tempered by joy over being home. “About Jack.”

“Not then,” he said equally as quiet. “I needed to keep you safe.” Adamant. Nothing could move him on that front. Ever. “And then I was trying to prove I was the same man, then there were the fights over Sarah Jane and Madam du Pompadour.”

And Pete, but in hindsight the Doctor supposed it’d been a good thing they’d gone to the Tyler mansion, all things considered.

Outside their bedroom door, he turned to her. Cupping her face he kissed her softly. Tasted her love and passion and tears. Fear-anticipation-nerves-passionate love-burning need.

“I have so many questions. I want to know what you did every minute you were out of my arms. But first, Rose Tyler.” He pressed her to the door, hard body covering her soft one. “I want to remember the taste of you.”

Rose whimpered and arched into him. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered against his mouth. “Still mad at you over Jack. But I’ve missed you so very much. My Doctor.”

With a growl, he opened the door and walked her backwards, letting the door swing close with a decisive bang. “Yell at me later,” he said, mouth trailing down her throat. “Scream my name now.”

****  
Martha stayed at the counter, Winston the mysterious cat still under her hand as she absently petted him. He seemed to like her, if the way he arched beneath her touch was any indication. And it was nice to have the attention he gave her, the unobtrusive affection and sense of well being.

She didn’t know where he had been hiding or even why, but decided that wasn’t important. She’d find out about it eventually, she supposed, but right now, with such heavy matters as life-death-and lack of death still weighing the air down, the mystery of Winston didn’t matter.

“I’m sorry.” The words were ripped from her before she could stop them. Once they were out, between her and Jack, Martha wished she could take them back. And yet didn’t want to.

“For what?” Jack asked in that same persuasive tone to his voice as there had been before the heart-to-heart she couldn’t quiet bring herself to leave even as she tried to hide and eavesdrop.

“Lots of things.” Martha sighed and shrugged. “Not being able to die. Outliving everyone you know and love. Being abandoned.”

She waved a hand because the words felt inadequate and for the first time she realized the shortfalls of the English language. Pushing off the counter, to Winston’s mewls of protest, she picked up her half finished beer and sat opposite Jack. The pizza had grown cold but she wasn’t hungry anymore.

“I don’t think I’ll outlive everyone,” he said quietly. His eyes drifted to the kitchen doorway and he gave a small, expressive shrug. “The Doctor has a lot of life left.”

Nodding, she finished her beer in a long swallow. “I suppose that’s true,” she agreed. What she didn’t say, what didn’t need saying, was that it’d still be a lonely existence. The Doctor could die, from what she’d heard—regenerate, true, but still die.

Jack couldn’t.

“So,” she said, changing the subject and offering him a genuine, if slightly more flirtatious smile than she’d normally. “What are your plans, then?”

Jack’s face froze, eyes glued to hers for a heartbeat before he laughed. “I don’t know. I spent so much time keeping away from people who wanted to dissect and torture me, looking for the Doctor, I never thought much beyond that.”

“Travel with him again?” Martha asked carefully, not asking about the torture and dissection—not yet. She’d deliberately said _him_ —since the Doctor’s plans had been to return her to her own place and time after this trip to proper New York.

Again, Jack shrugged. “What about you, Martha?”

“I have my studies,” she said, only partially interested in continuing her medical education. There was so much to see and do and experience out here. “Family,” she added after a moment’s thought.

“Would you…” he trailed off. For a heartbeat, a quick flash of time, Martha saw true vulnerability in Jack’s blue gaze. “Would you mind if I tagged along? I don’t much want to live through the rest of the Twentieth Century, to be honest, and it’d be nice to have someone to talk to who understands.”

He trailed off again but Martha wondered what it was she was supposed to understand. The Doctor? Not in a hundred lifetimes. Being abandoned by the Doctor? He hadn’t abandoned her, and even if he left her in her own time, he’d promised nothing more than a quick trip. And that had turned into several.

Or maybe just the traveling and the aftermath of a slow life lived in one place.

“Sure,” she said with a smile she sincerely meant. Jack’s gaze, vulnerable and sincere and yet oddly penetrating and heated met hers. Martha felt a sudden bolt of lust shoot through her and she had to swallow before continuing.

“If you don’t mind crazy hours and late nights studying, you can even flop on my couch.” The words were out before she realized she’d even meant to say them and Martha wondered when she’d begun speaking so impulsively.

Jack’s smile turned wicked. But all he did was reach across the table and take her hand. “Thank you, Martha.”

Martha tried very hard not to show how that simple touch affected her. Or the way his wicked smile made heat curl through her veins. Very hard. But she doubted she succeeded, if the darkening of Jack’s eyes was an indication.

Doubted she wanted to succeed as her fingers curled around his.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

“Doctor!” Rose screamed.

For the third time.

Her body was highly sensitive, it’d been three plus years after all since she’d felt her lover’s touch. Or anyone’s touch save her own hand, frankly. And her own touch, no matter what she envisioned or what fantasies she indulged in or what toys she bought didn’t do what he did.

Before the Doctor had taken minutes, hours, days to learn her body, Rose would’ve said no one knew her pleasures like she did. After those minutes, hours, days of his through exploration with tongue and hands and teeth, her touch never felt the same. Even when she’d been desperate, her own fingers had never made her feel like he could.

Her hands gripped the headboard of their bed, back arched, mind blissfully blank as the Doctor indulged in his favorite past time. Making her forget everything but his name. His touch.

Her body hummed and despite the over-sensitiveness of it, Rose craved more. The feel of him moving within her, stretching her, binding her to him. Of his mind brushing hers, that sensual touch of lovers she desired as much as she did his mouth, his touch.

“I thought I remembered your taste,” he whispered as he kissed his way slowly up her body. “I thought I remembered every sound you made when I kissed you, when you were on the brink of orgasm, when you fell over and exploded in my mouth, from my touch.”

Rose tried to speak but could only swallow hard and force her fingers to uncurl from the headboard. She itched to touch him, the rub of skin on skin and body against body. Her fingers danced eagerly over his shoulders and down his spine, making him shiver. The Doctor caught her wrists and tugged her up, against him.

His erection pressed against her belly and she moaned into his kiss.

“I was wrong,” he murmured, mouth trailing down her throat. ”My memory isn’t as good as I thought, my Rose. Not when it comes to you. I could spend the rest of your life cataloging every sound you make and it still wouldn’t be perfect.”

“No,” she said, shifting so she could wrap her legs about his waist, breasts pressed against his chest. His erection pulsed hard and thick between them, but she waited, gathered her thoughts to her and tried to put into words what needed to be said. “Never imperfect. I waited years to feel like this again. Nothing was ever enough.”

Her mouth was hard on his, desperate and needy and hungry and yet familiar and soft and longing. She kissed him until she burned the taste of him into her memory. And then she kissed him again, lifting up, over him, to grasp his cock and guide him into her.

Rose gasped his name again, forehead finally, finally, finally pressed to his, the last merging of body and mind and soul.

His hands spanned her waist, gripped her hips, lifted her only to slam her back down. Rose cried out and moved faster, hands on his chest, pushing him backwards. She rose over him, powerful and aroused and home, and rode him hard. He’d wanted her to scream his name, and she’d been all too eager and willing to do so.

But now she wanted to hear him scream hers.

His fingers twisted and tugged her nipples, up her arms and over her shoulders. Riding him like this made it difficult to feel him surround her, to engage their connection, but Rose knew when he was close.

It didn’t take long for either of them after their separation, even if it’d been only a few months for him.

“Rose,” he growled, and she knew he was close. Felt it in each thrust. In the way his hands gripped hers and the way his mouth hungered for hers.

“Yes!” she called out, head thrown back, straining, straining for completion.

The Doctor flipped them, foreheads together, and Rose felt him, there, right there. Surrounding her, within her, mind brushing hers and she came, legs locked around him, nails digging into his arse, calling out his name as colors and sound and tastes eluded and merged and receded only to start all over again.

When she opened her eyes, the Doctor still lay atop her, still buried within her, still breathing heavy. She blinked up at him, unwilling to move from their position. Possibly ever. Bodies still pressed together, their connection unbroken, he gently rolled them to face each other, one arm heavy around her waist. Where she found the strength to move, Rose didn’t know but she lifted a hand and ran I t through his hair.

“I missed you,” she whispered. Her throat closed on emotion—fear and longing and hope. She swallowed hard and willed surprised tears (maybe not so surprising considering she’d been back less than 12 hours and still didn’t know how and now the device was fried) away.

“I love you.”

Rose waited for the jerk, the awkward stammering over words left unsaid until too late. It never came. The Doctor pulled back to look at her, gently disentangling their connection with a final mental kiss-caress-brush, and in the dim bedroom light she could see the depth of his feelings.

Loneliness  
Fear  
Pain  
Anger  
Love  
Hope  
Her.

“I swore that if I ever found you,” she paused and remembered her promise to her mum.

( _I didn’t spend the last year or so missing you and protecting you and that daft alien so you could wallow in tears and self-pity_ here _! Now you get out of that bed, missy, and go into Torchwood_ (may it burn in hell) _with Mickey and figure out a way to find him!_ No one had argued with Jackie Tyler. No one was brave enough to. No one ever really had been.)

“ _When_ I found you,” she corrected quietly and brushed her hand along his chest to rest between his hearts. “I’d tell you. No more waiting for a beach a universe apart to say the words you already knew.”

“They never needed saying,” he whispered, mouth gliding over her shoulder. “I knew. I always knew.”

Rose offered a weak chuckle and closed her eyes, the glow of reunion sex and being in his arms undiminished. She decided that despite all the things left unsaid and still needing to be said, she could quite conceivably stay right there, in his arms, for the rest of her life.

“And I know,” she agreed. He rolled them until she lay on his chest, head on her favorite spot above his left heart, hand over his right one, bodies intimately touching. It wasn’t enough to reconnect their bond, not quite, but enough so she could feel his contentment and love and bliss.

“But I’m going to say it. Doesn’t matter if you don’t say it back,” she added, though it’d be nice to hear the words. “I’ve always known.”

“Rose Tyler,” he said and she heard the smile in his voice. Felt them in the way his mind brushed hers though they weren’t making love but in the intimate afterwards of it. “I love you, too.”

Secure on his embrace, heart whole for the first time in years, Rose drifted into a peaceful sleep where dreams didn’t plague her.

****  
Martha wandered the hall, unable to sleep. Oh, her body eventually gave out and she crashed onto her bed, fully clothed. But hunger woke her up after only a few hours and she’d reluctantly climbed from bed to seek out food.

First she’d showered, scrubbed the Dalek dust and sewer stain and other unidentifiable muck off her skin and out of her hair. She’d deal with her hair later, her growling stomach reminded her she’d left her half eaten dinner in the kitchen. Cold pizza sounded fine.

Frankly, it didn’t matter what she ate, her mind raced with new information. New feelings. New ideas and thoughts and Jack.

Which may have been what surprised her the most.

Not because he was handsome or charming or made her laugh. He was and he did. Because she’d never fancied herself as jumping from one man to another. Martha prided herself on being practical. She’d been practical in choosing a career, a school to ensure that career, friends that would keep her through schooling and career and wouldn’t be the wrong sorts.

And then she’d met the Doctor and for the first time in her life Martha Jones had leapt. She’d wanted something more, that elusiveness that had been missing from her life. So she’d run off with a handsome man in his strange blue box and hadn’t really looked back.

Now, now however she had been confronted with several startling facts. She’d been slowly and irrevocably falling in love wit him despite his love for Rose (not _oh her_ ). Seeing the Doctor and Rose together, Martha realized that maybe what she felt for him was no more than a crush. It hurt and she hated it, wanted to rally against it, but it stared her in the face and there was nothing she could do about it.

Mostly the whole thing embarrassed her. But she’d think about that later.

Then there was Jack.

Once upon a time, Practical Martha would have laughed at such a charmer but never had her head turned. Once upon a time, Practical Martha might not have realized the depth of emotion (despair and anger and longing and destruction and loneliness and hatred and desperation) in such a charmer.

Once upon a time was a long, long time and many experiences ago. And Practical Martha had stayed behind in that alleyway outside the pub with her arguing family.

New Martha, Adventurous Martha, Bold Martha, Courageous Martha walked down a hallway in her nightclothes and robe in a bigger-on-the-inside ship and wondered why there was only one word for her _**BEFORE**_ (realistic-levelheaded-sensible-pragmatic-reasonable-rational-no-nonsense) so many for her _**NOW**_ (daring-bold-audacious-brave-courageous-exciting-seeking-carefree-risk-taking-venturesome-risky-questing-exploring-discovering) and whether she had to choose only one.

**What sort of woman was she now?**

“Oh,” she said and immediately felt stupid. The Doctor stood in the kitchen, clad only in his suit pants and barefoot. It was that last, his lack of footwear, that made her stare. Really it was. No other reason at all.

Nope.  
None.  
Not a single one.

“I…ah,” she began, cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. “I didn’t know anyone was awake.”

“Oh, I don’t sleep much,” the Doctor said absently. “And now.” He trailed off with a smile that Martha instantly dubbed his Rose Smile™.

“I’m sure,” she said cautiously. Not because she worried over his feelings, not really, or any awkwardness since she already knew any awkwardness would be on her part. But because she had no idea what to say.

Practical Martha might—Peacekeeper Martha might. New Martha didn’t want to fall back on old habits two minutes after deciding to ditch the old ones.

New Martha opened her mouth to speak—words all but begged to be released, but only silence emerged. Instead, she walked to the fridge, grateful she’d thrown a robe over her pajama shorts and tank, and rummaged for the leftover pizza.

One glance at it and she decided to heat it up a little. While she did so, New Martha admitted that Practical Martha still lurked far too close to the surface and that maybe she heated up the pizza so she could stay in the kitchen just a little while longer. Pathetic. But at least she could figure out the words to ask her questions, even if those answers might be as brief or nonexistent as she feared.

“I guess none of us ate much,” she said with a nod at the tray the Doctor was making. “It’s been a…” Martha tilted her head as the Doctor turned to look at her. “Day,” she finished. “Yes, one of those days.”

Because it had been a day only she didn’t know what kind of day it had been. Only that she was glad it was over. And then she remembered the Doctor’s promise—to take her home after a proper visit to New York.

Panic clutched her stomach and she was suddenly not very hungry.

The Doctor laughed and Martha almost fell over. It wasn’t the harsh laughter she’d heard while they’d been in New York. Or even the sad sound he’d made on New New York. ( _You are not alone. You've got me. Is that what he meant?_ Sadness and tears and a tearing grief hidden behind a twisted smile and reedy laugh. _I don't think so. Sorry._ )

This was a proper laugh with joy; sheer unbridled joy that lighted his entire face and lifted his shoulders and even made his eyes look brighter and younger. Martha clutched at the counter, stunned at the sight.

“Yes,” he said with another Rose Smile™ that made his entire face glow and laugh lines she’d never seen before appear by his eyes. Martha tried not to stare at the change, but doubted she was successful. Practical Martha cared. New Martha kicked her in the shin and returned the smile.

“Yes,” the Doctor said, still smiling. “It certainly has been one of those days.”

The timer on the toaster oven dinged and Martha reached for a plate. Suddenly she was starving, even if her stomach roiled at the prospect of food.

“Well,” she said with a forced cheer-life-optimistic smile. “Enjoy your dinner. I’ll see you and Rose in the morning.”

Martha expected the normal eye roll and _Martha there is no morning on the TARDIS_ speech but all the Doctor did was grin (that Rose Smile™) again. The sight was starting to creep her out.

“She’s looking forward to meeting you,” the Doctor said and Martha was grateful for the counter at her back. She hadn’t expected that. “And I’d…” he looked at her with that same intensity he’d done on the moon right before he kissed her.

This time Martha’s heart didn’t skip a beat. Practical Martha remained silent. New Martha cheered.

“I’d really like the two of you to be friends,” he said and she knew he meant it.

“You found her,” Martha said and wondered where those words came from. But the words kept coming and she didn’t stop them or couldn’t stop them, but either way they refused to stop and she kept talking.

“Or she found you,” Adventurous Martha, Bold Martha, Courageous Martha said. “Either way, I’m happy for you, Doctor.”

Reaching up on tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his cheek. The Doctor beamed at her, a Rose Smile™, and picked up the tray, and disappeared into the dim hallway.

Martha picked up her pizza slice and bit into it. It really was tasty, and she’d have to remember to thank Jack in the morning for making it. For the distraction of doing so. Jack. Her mind wandered back to a man who seemed impossible and yet stood beside her doing the most mundane and incongruous tasks of making dinner.

He had a charisma about him, no doubting that, but Martha sensed in him a sincerity that pulled her more than any funny story or sexy wink could. Yes, he made her laugh and he made her feel like the sexiest woman in the universe. But more than that, she wanted to know about him. Wanted to know him.

Practical Martha shook her head in disgust and fear and stagnant, stationary panic. New and Adventurous and Bold and Courageous Martha wanted Jack.

She wanted to know what he’d been up to these last, what, sixty some years? She wanted to know what he’d done before meeting the Doctor. And after. And how he’d survived. And what he planned to do now. Travel with the Doctor and Rose? Hell, what did she plan?

Given a choice, she wanted to continue to travel with the Doctor. Wanted to see the world and the universe and the future and past and know things, just learn. Enjoy the adventure and soak up the cultures.

The Doctor and Rose and Jack and Martha. In the TARDIS.

It sounded like a bad sitcom or cheesy 70s movie. But the more she thought about it, the more she liked the ring of it. Yes, the Doctor and Rose and Jack and Martha traveling in the TARDIS across time and space; exploring and sightseeing and living life.

It was only after she flipped the kitchen light off that Martha realized she really did look forward to seeing Rose in the morning. Smiling, she continued down the hall to her bedroom.


	7. Chapter 7

Jack blinked, backed up, leaned against the hallway, and peered around the corner to try again. 

Nope. Same thing. Whatever had happened before to change it once, clearly She decided that was over and done with. ( _Nice kitchen, very cozy_ , he’d once said with a knowing smirk. Rose had smiled and tilted her head towards the Doctor who glowered at him with a typical _Do I look like I do cozy_ glare. But the other man’s eyes softened from ice blue to something Jack had learned was solely for Rose when he looked back at Rose. That was when Jack realized the dynamics of his new home.)

“Oh.”

Martha stood next to him looking completely at a loss. In fact, she looked as if she walked into the wrong TARDIS.

“Is…it supposed to look like this?” She asked tentatively and took a step further into the room. When she looked at him, she looked as if she wanted reassurance as well as confirmation.

“Yes,” he said before he could temper the longing and joy and rightness of the transformed kitchen.

“Ah.” Martha cleared her throat and stepped decisively into the room, shoulders back. He had to admit, the move made the red leather jacket spread nicely over her. “This is what it looked like before then?”

There was a wealth of meaning in that question that was more statement than inquiry. Damn, Doctor, what had gone on between Rose being trapped and her reappearance? But all Jack did was enter the kitchen fully, his smile firmly in place.

It wasn’t exact to his memories. The colors seemed off, but then sixty-one years tended to dull or brighten one’s memories. Still, Jack had long prided himself on his recall. The blues were more vivid and the whites more cream than he remembered. But the extra-large picture window once more looked out over the red Gallifreyan fields and the snowcapped Mount Cadon and the Cadonflood River of Southern Gallifrey.

And the smell was the same. He’d dreamt of that smell, the scent of fresh bread (though no one had ever actually made fresh bread in the TARDIS) and chocolate chip cookies (which Rose excelled at) and bananas. If he closed his eyes, he could hear the (other) Doctor’s laughter or Rose’s gasp of breath as he wrapped his arms around her and Jack snuck out of the kitchen to (for once in his life) give them privacy.

He breathed deeply and let the scents simply surround him.

“It’s Gallifrey,” Jack said with a nod toward the window. “This is how it looked before I came onboard. I don’t know the story; neither the Doctor nor Rose ever talked about it. All I do know is this is…” he trailed off. What was this?

Home? Yes, but more than that.  
It was a statement, a healing, a cleansing, a memory.  
Safe and history and future and love.

“I don’t know,” he admitted with a shrug. His shirt, which admittedly needed a washing, settled over his shoulders. He really should visit the wardrobe room. Or the laundry room. Or the nearest shop. “It just is. Never questioned it, actually,” he added with a faint chuckle. “Doctor’s TARDIS, Doctor’s kitchen.”

“The Doctor and Rose’s kitchen,” Martha corrected with a significant look Jack couldn’t ignore.

Jealousy there. But not a burning hatred or malicious. It left Jack to wonder if Martha had always known about Rose’s place in the Doctor’s life and her, Martha’s, place, or if Martha was a better person. He suspected a little bit of both.

“Yeah,” Jack agreed quietly. “They were together long before I came into the picture. The Doctor was always very possessive of her. Not restrictive, just protective.”

_Rose, you are worth fighting for._

“He never talks about her.” Martha turned from the fridge, juice in hand, and studied him. “He talks about her, but never says anything,” she clarified.

“He’s a talker,” Jack agreed. “Or…he was. I don’t think that’s changed.” Another shrug and oh, did it feel good to be clean. “And he’s private. Doesn’t open up no matter how much he says. And never, never, about his relationship with Rose.”

_You sent her home. She's safe. Keep working._

“Though,” Jack said and headed for the stove to check the water levels in the kettle. “I should warn you—now that they’re together, beware.” He shot her a wide, charming grin and a salacious wink that already had her blushing and smiling in return. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve walked in on them.”

Martha rolled her eyes but said nothing. Jack didn’t know if there was a response to that, or what her reaction would be to walking in on Rose and the Doctor in the middle of something. (Or for that matter, what this Doctor looked like half naked. And Jack was really, really curious about that and planned on sneaking up on them at the first opportunity.)

Jack eyed her, curious—she didn’t look voyeuristic but one never knew. And was it so wrong he could easily picture him behind Martha’s body, hands cupping her breasts, mouth on her neck as they watched the Doctor and Rose?

Suddenly hard for the beautiful woman before him, he turned back to the stove and lit the burner. Being aroused was nothing new for him. It wasn’t arousal that worried Jack. He was attracted to many beings, he found beauty all over.

But Martha pulled him in ways he didn’t understand. It both intrigued him and interested him. 

“Oh!”

Jack turned back around, arousal nowhere near under control (and when was the last time that had happened?) but already knew Rose had entered the room. He grinned at her and watched the anger drain from her features.

Winston stood at her side, head tilted in interest. That interest didn’t last long before the cat sniffed and padded into the room. Jack didn’t see water or food, and for the first time wondered how the cat ate while he’d been avoiding the Doctor. And Martha for that matter. Then again, Winston had been an outdoor cat.

Did the TARDIS have mice? Jack didn’t think so, but maybe She provided them for Winston.

Either way, Winston leapt onto the table, sat before Martha, and stared at her until she reached out and rubbed her fingers over his back. Winston purred, looked at Jack in superiority, and closed his eyes.

He tore his gaze from the cat and looked back at Rose, who hadn’t moved from the door.

Jack had a feeling that despite their first night back together, Rose and the Doctor had spent this morning arguing. And he was vain enough to hope it’d been about him. Jack had woken for the first time in sixty-one years from the most restful night’s sleep he’d had since the last time he’d been on the TARDIS. More importantly, he woke with a soul-deep realization that he forgave the Doctor.

Because he knew what it was like to love and lose.  
And he knew what it was like to run.  
And he certainly understood keeping Rose safe. Loving Rose.  
But more importantly, because Jack knew he’d have done the same. (Weird wrong and hard timelines aside)  
 _Never doubted him, never will._

And because Jack no longer needed the Doctor’s approval. Only his friendship. And friendship was based on trust. Jack trusted the Doctor, maybe not as much as he once had, but he also had a better understanding of the Doctor now.

And that was okay, too.

“It’s changed back,” Rose breathed and closed her eyes, no doubt also breathing deeply of the well-remembered scents. “Thank you.”

Jack heard the TARDIS hum in appreciation and let his affection for Her infuse his mind. He knew She understood and loved him in return. He saw tears in Rose’s gaze as she looked around the kitchen and knew she also compared memory with reality. Jack wondered if the colors really were different or if they were so only in his memory, but didn’t ask.

He had questions about what had happened—but knowing the Doctor, and now knowing that Rose had been trapped in another universe (which sounded like a plot from that 51st Century soap they used to watch together), Jack suspected the Doctor hadn’t been able to cope with their kitchen. But it did make him wonder what they’d done after Daleks and death and life (when the Doctor had left him and she’d thought him dead or at the very least content to live without them).

“Good morning, Martha,” Rose said with a smile. “Are you making breakfast?”

“Oh.” Martha looked uncomfortably down at the juice and bagel in her hand. “I’m not really used to making breakfast for anyone but me. I usually eat alone…”

She trailed off but the significance of her uncomfortable statement wasn’t lost on Jack. Rose, either, if her shocked expression was anything to go by.

“Have a seat,” she said with a glare at the door and a smile that did a poor job of hiding her anger and sorrow and heartbreak. And maybe a fading jealousy.

Once upon a time (yesterday) Jack thought he’d side with the Doctor’s loneliness and grief and becoming too attached. Now, he moved to stand next to Martha. Gently taking the juice and bagel from her, he set them on the counter and led her to the table.

The long table that didn’t require high bar chairs with its rough wood and more organic look; these chairs were also wood with thick padding that didn’t suck you in, but felt utterly comfortable nonetheless. Jack idly wondered if his name was still carved underneath the table—it looked like the same one from his time here.

He’d done it on a bet with Mickey to see how long before the Doctor noticed.

Mickey. Now in that alternate dimension with Jackie and an alive-version of Pete Tyler. Weird. Jack shook his head and grinned at Martha.

“Rose makes the best breakfast this side of the galaxy.”

“I believe,” Rose said with a glare as she pulled two skillets from the same place he (and apparently she and She) remembered. “You once claimed the entire universe.”

Laughing, Jack could only agree. He tugged the 23rd century coffeemaker from its spot, notably absent from the previous kitchen so far as he’d been able to tell, and set about making a pot. The coffee should be in the vacuum sealed container right next to the plates. Oh, yes.

“Thank you, you Sexy Old Girl, you,” he whispered to the TARDIS. Perfection.

“I always thought you’d found someone.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asked and went to the fridge to grab the eggs and bacon he knew she’d want. Oh.

Oh.

“Ah. You mean when I was on that satellite, you thought I’d found someone there?” he asked quietly, choosing his words carefully.

He glanced at Martha, who looked uncomfortable, but smiled at her. It was important to him that she not feel excluded. He and Rose had history, but he didn’t want to constantly talk about the past in front of Martha.

Then again, this was only the morning after—Jack supposed it was allowed they catch up for a little bit. Still, the fact he wanted so desperately to include Martha was beginning to concern him.

“Yeah,” Rose whispered but didn’t turn from the stove. He heard her voice catch but gave her the space she seemed to need. It took a moment before she looked up at him.

Rose turned the down heat on the stove and glanced at Martha. She breathed deeply and blinked away the tears in her eyes. Winston finally moved from the table and jumped down, silently making his way to Rose. He wound through her legs before settling next to her in a patch of (fake) Gallifreyan sun.

“I had this whole fantasy about him and a couple he’d corrupted.” Rose laughed, her smile only slightly diminished from what he knew and loved. She smiled at Martha who grinned in return. “And the three of them lived happily ever after, making love across the galaxy and scandalizing everyone by having sex wherever and whenever you wanted.”

Jack laughed, then laughed harder because he could easily see himself doing such a thing. Because Rose and the Doctor had changed him, domesticated him according to the Doctor though Jack would’ve disputed that. Would still dispute it.

Martha grinned and shook her head. Standing, she reached for the juice and shook it. She pulled down a glass, then pulled down two more. After a moment, she pulled down a fourth.

Did she ever eat in the same room at the same time with the Doctor?

Pouring herself a glass, Martha said, “It’s mango juice. Anyone want a glass?”

“Sure,” Rose said and returned to the stove with a far more relaxed stance than when she’d entered the kitchen. “I’m just making a quick breakfast; we’ll have to stop for supplies for anything fancier. What do you normally eat, Martha?”

“A bagel, cup of yogurt, juice. Coffee.” Martha shrugged. “It was fast when I was studying, convenient, and meant I didn’t need to waste time at a bakery or coffee shop with a dozen others. Got to sleep in an extra twenty minutes.”

“I don’t blame you.” Rose laughed and turned back to the stove. “How do you like your eggs, Martha? First day back home, I’m taking requests.”

“Over easy,” Martha said and stood. “Need any help?”

“Nah.” Rose shook her head. “Just sit and relax. Tell us a story. What were you doing in New York?” 

Jack moved around her in a well-remembered dance of breakfast. He didn’t know what happened after, but before he and Rose often made breakfast, the Doctor would come in to the smell of tea and whatever Rose felt like making that day and they’d eat and laugh and plan their next trip.

The TARDIS Team.

Jack set the table, taking care to set four places and took down the teapot. The coffeemaker signaled its end and he poured two cups, one for him and one for Martha. He’d leave the tea for Rose and the Doctor. If the Doctor still liked tea. Did things like that change with regeneration?

Martha shook her head. “Rather not talk about it,” she admitted quietly. Rose gave her a sharp look, but Jack saw the grief and horror in her beautiful brown eyes—those emotions warred with excitement at traveling and seeing things she never would’ve in 2007 London. He squeezed her hand—Jack understood, oh he understood.

“How did the Doctor convince you to travel with him?” Jack asked instead.

“Are you kidding?” Martha laughed and sipped her coffee, adding a bit more sugar. “All of time and space? Who’d say no?”

She gave a brief story of the Judoon on the moon for Rose’s benefit then told them of her brother’s birthday and the argument between her now-divorced parents and how the Doctor was waiting around the corner. And ask her to join him on one trip—just one—as a thank you

His mind wandered as Martha talked about her excitement, her skepticism, traveling to meet Shakespeare. Had they moved from the base of the Statue of Liberty? Things had been a little crazed after he and Rose had heard the TARDIS doors open and the Doctor returned. In any event, they’d have to stock up on food.

Assuming he continued traveling with the Doctor.  
Assuming he wanted to continue.  
Assuming the Doctor did.  
Assuming a damn lot of things Jack had never thought about until now.

The afters had always been vague. It had been his questions he’d wanted answers to—what happened next hadn’t mattered. Until now.

“I’m starved,” Martha admitted as Rose scooped her eggs onto her plate. “Though, Jack the pizza last night was delicious.”

He grinned back, absurdly pleased with her small compliment. “I’m good at a great may things,” he added with a wink, again pleased he’d made her laugh and blush just slightly. Rose laughed as well as she returned to the stove and the fried eggs he loved.

“Oh, stop it, Jack.” The Doctor walked in already shaking his head.

He stopped just inside the room. Jack watched as it took the Doctor seconds to see that the kitchen had changed, but then his gaze settled on Rose at the stove. She stood right in front of the picture window, the red glow from memory-Gallifrey making her blonde hair reddish-gold. A silly grin spread over his face.

New Doctor, new face, but Jack knew that grin anywhere. The Doctor moved across the room and settled his hand on Rose’s hip, lips brushing gently over her temple. He couldn’t hear what the Doctor said to her, but from the way Rose’s tense body relaxed, he guessed it was and _I love you-missed you-need you_ coupled with _I’m sorry_.

Jack was about to retort with something appropriately witty and break up the moment when he noticed Martha’s shocked look. She blinked, looked at him as if he were a ghost, then glanced at Rose. Her lips tightened for the barest fraction of a second, then she shrugged and returned to her breakfast.

“Rose made breakfast,” Jack said instead. “Eggs, bacon, yogurt, mango juice, but no banana muffins.” Jack shrugged unapologetically. “Sorry.”

They ate, laughed at one of Jack’s standard stories about trouble, nakedness, and a miraculous save to the day. He kept those stories for times like this, when his friends needed a laugh and he needed to put off any serious conversation for just a little longer.

“Martha,” the Doctor said as he looked around the table.

It didn’t escape Jack’s notice how his chair was closer to Rose’s than it’d started out as. Or that his hand caressed Rose’s leg beneath the table. Very little escaped Jack’s notice when it came to relationships.

“I believe I promised you a trip to proper New York then home.” He nodded as if it had already been completely settled.

Martha looked stricken for a heartbeat but immediately composed herself. Jack noticed, but didn’t think the Doctor had. “So you did.” She nodded. “Though I’m not sure 1930s New York counts as proper New York.”

Rose laughed. “Hey, at least you didn’t arrive in 1830. Who knows what the city looked like then!”

“True,” Martha allowed with another smile. “And I do need to pick up some clothes.”

The Doctor jerked, clearly surprised, but Rose laughed again. “First time I went with him,” she said with a fond smile at the man, “I ran into the TARDIS with the clothes on my back.”

Martha gestured t her own clothing. “Yup, exactly. Though it’s only been a couple days.” She frowned. “I think.”

“Time travel.” Rose nodded conspiratorially with a wink at Jack. “Hard to keep track.”

“I’ll set you back the next morning,” the Doctor said with more enthusiasm than shone in his eyes. “Just like I promised. No one will ever know you’d gone.”

He stood, clearly ending the conversation despite Jack and Rose’s laughter, and set course for London, Martha’s apartment. While the three of the cleaned up from breakfast, Rose told Martha of her own return, one year late, and Jack saw Martha relax. He hadn’t realized she’d tensed up when the Doctor entered the room until he’d left again and her entire body unwound.

“I’ll go with you,” he offered. “Help you gather some stuff.” Huh. He hadn’t meant to say those words. But there they were and there was no taking the back. What’s more, he didn’t want to take them back.

“Assuming,” Jack added with a wink, “the Doctor drops you off the same day and awkward explanations aren’t needed.”

“To be fair,” Rose added with a fond caress along the kitchen wall, “there was an alien invasion. I think the TARDIS made it a year late so we’d be there for the Slitheens.”

“I’d hate to try to explain that to my mum,” Martha said as the three of them walked toward the console room. Winston, Jack noted, had opted to stay in the kitchen. “And I don’t even know what I’d say to my professors about a missed year of school!”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” the Doctor said with a glower at him and Rose. Jack merely grinned wider. “Next morning, bright and early. Just in time for the news.”

“Martha,” Rose said before the Doctor could finish what he clearly wanted to finish. “We’ll see you soon.”

She stopped and pulled out her mobile. “Here, give me your number. We’ll…” she trailed off, glanced at the Doctor then back to Martha. “We’ll be back this evening. Pick you and Jack up, yeah?”

Martha looked stunned as she nodded and agreed. Jack took her hand, another move that surprised him—he’d always been affectionate, had no problem with touching, but this handholding felt different than his normal touching. A simple innocent touch that was far more intimate. No wonder the Doctor always held Rose’s hand. It was a connection Jack hadn’t truly realized until right then.

So he took Martha’s hand and led her out the TARDIS doors. They stood in her room as the TARDIS disappeared.

Jack had a bad moment that he’d never see the ship again or their occupants. Visions of running through Dalek-covered hallways flashed before him in ways that he hadn’t dreamed about (nightmares where he woke screaming and gasping for breath and alone, so very alone) in years.

Martha’s hand gripped his tightly, and when he looked down at her, he saw the same fear etched on her face. The left behind fear. He squeezed her hand in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture.

“Everything should be just as it was?” Jack asked turned and flipped the telly on, taking in the room. “Books, CDs, laundry?” He held up her knickers and wagged his eyebrows. The old Jack was second nature, right there, easy to access.

Simple.  
Easy.  
Flirty.  
But not who he wanted to be. Not anymore. Not with Martha.

Because the look on Martha’s face, shy and interested and laughing, made him want to dial back Old Jack and find out who he could be with Martha. If there was such a thing as New Jack and what that New Jack could be. Wanted to be. With Martha.

“So,” she asked as her phone rang. “What does one pack for this sort of trip? I already know a watch is useless and good running shoes are a must.”

Jack laughed as she spoke to her mum. But then Martha grabbed the remote from him and changed the channel to a news conference of some sort.

_With the push of a single button, I will change what it means to be human._

And just like that, Jack and Martha had their first date.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten x Rose  
> Hints of possible Jack/Martha  
>   
> Rating: Well, Jack Harkness is in it, so there’s that rating. Plus NSFW Rose and Doctor lovin’. No bashing.

Rose stood in the workshop and cataloged every change, every added piece of junk ( _It's not junk, Rose, it's important. Or will be. Or I'm working on a new_...fill in the blank.) It was even more cluttered than she remembered, darker, too. As if the Doctor didn't want any more light shining down than he absolutely needed to see with. Or perhaps the TARDIS had taken to dimming the lights for Her driver.

The long clear table the Doctor used to house his ‘projects’ now sat with bits and pieces from at least a hundred things. More probably. All scattered and half completed and even messier than before.

( _You're distracting me._ But he kissed her back and pushed away from the table, settling her legs over his so he could properly kiss her. _Yes_ , she inevitably said, rocking against him. _That's the whole point. Come back to bed._ )

But that was a long time ago and she hadn't just jumped back into this universe by not destroying the entire fabric of reality. Now, standing in the workshop, Rose held herself in check. They had plenty of time to make love. Shag all they wanted against the table top, the wall, in the garden, wherever. Everywhere.

Right now, they both needed answers.

And Rose needed to see old friends. Jack had been a surprise. A very pleasant surprise, the best, but now she felt like seeing Sarah Jane. She’d brought it up last night, as they laid in bed—a visit before picking up Jack and Martha.

The last time she’d seen Sarah Jane was…right before. Did the other woman know? She must. Rose eyed the Doctor, studiously keeping his back to her and his attention on the dimension jumper he so carefully pulled apart.

Even if the Doctor hadn’t told her himself, and he hadn’t said last night, Sarah’d have heard about the battle—read the papers, seen the list of missing and dead. The world couldn’t deny the existence of aliens, not after that. (Though they probably would.) After what he’d shown her, Rose doubted he’d visit a friend, even Sarah Jane. Maybe especially her. He’d break down in front of someone (not the TARDIS) and he could never do that. Would never. It wasn’t what he did.

Looking back she was still surprised he’d let her in as far as he had. The Dalek in that museum had caused the crack, but he’d never rebuilt it. Except in France ( _Did you sleep with her?_ She’d demanded, furious and hurt and so scared that he’d taken her hesitation in resuming their relationship for disinterest and moved on. Just like that. _No. Rose, I would never—I don’t—no._ ) 

The wall between them was as thick as the distance between the spaceship and Versailles was insurmountable. But Rose didn’t want to think about that. They’d moved past it. Mostly.

Bringing her attention back to the matter at had, she watched the Doctor examine the round yellow button she’d used to travel between there and here. Her shoulders tensed, her heart beat painfully in her chest at the memories of him hunched over his worktable, glasses on (or that crazy blinking headlamp he seemed to like), muttering to himself.

She bit her lip and watched, breathing in the remembered scents of oil and grease from a thousand planets and the sounds of experiments too numerous to count. And of him. Had he spent all his time in here?

When they’d been together, well when she’d been in this universe, they’d spent time in loads of rooms—the library, the gardens, the greenhouse, the pool, the kitchen, their room, here. But after only one glimpse of him _afterwards_ , she wondered if he spent all his time here.

Well, here and with Martha.

Rose waited for, accepted, and then pushed back the jealousy at the other woman’s name. Wasn’t Martha’s fault and she seemed a nice enough woman. Wasn’t the Doctor’s fault (not this time at least but she was so not going there, hadn’t she already promised herself—France and spaceships and Madame de bloody Pompadour).

She licked her lips, fingers curling into the pockets of her jeans as she watched him. Her fingers all but itched to touch him, reassure herself he sat right there, that she _could_ touch him. Rose breathed deeply and leaned forward.

Her plan had been to reassure at least a second sense (scent though her sight could probably use the reassurance as well) that the Doctor was there, but Rose ended up wrapping her arms around him, splaying her hands over his chest (touch) and burying her nose in the crook of his neck. Then, because she could and he was there and his hand had risen to clasp hers closer to his chest and he’d tilted his head just slightly to press against her, Rose pressed her lips to his bare skin.

“Rose,” he whispered, hoarse and hungry and a groan of need.

She didn’t pull back physically but did try and focus. They had so much more to discuss than Jack _(You lied to me! We could’ve returned for him! Why did you leave him?)_

“It was Mickey’s idea to use my key,” Rose started. She stopped, cleared her throat, and wondered if she’d forever be forced to choose between her love for the Doctor and her family.

Her mum understood ( _When you see him again, Rose, you give him a kiss from me._ ) But Rose missed her mum and Mickey. And Pete.

“Mickety-Mick-Mickey,” the Doctor said softly. “He took care of you?”

“I don’t need taking care of, Doctor.” The words came out equally soft, however. Because she had needed someone to take care of her. She had needed support and family to make it through those first days-weeks-months before Norway. And the immediate aftermath of that beach, too.

“Made it back here, didn’t I?” She added in a lighter tone. Rose didn’t want to think about Norway or how broken she’d been.

“Rose.” The word held a wealth of meaning, love and concern and need and sorrow. He turned, slipped his arms around her waist, and pulled her onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around him and knew there’d eventually come a time when they wouldn’t have to constantly touch. But not yet. Not now.

Then again, they usually touched even if it was simply holding hands. A hug. A bush of hand on an arm or shoulder…or bum. (They’d been standing before Queen Victoria and his hand had brushed her bum. A slightest of touches that sent fire through her.)

“He did take care of me,” she reassured him. Leaning back, Rose framed his face so she could see his eyes. With a smile, she slipped his glasses off and tossed them onto the workbench behind her. Things went scattering but neither cared.

Hands framing his face again, she leaned her forehead to his. Their bond buzzed at the back of her mind, tingled through her body in a sharp bolt of need. A faint snap of awareness but not enough to truly feel him. Rose wanted to, wanted to know what more there was to Gallifreyan bonds, but they’d never tried.

If they even could.

“Yes. Mickey took care of me, Doctor. He held me when I couldn’t stand.”

Literally, when she’d collapsed after minutes-hours-days by that wall (white so very blinding white it hurt). Then he held her in the car as Pete drove back to his house. He’d held her when she’d panicked (freaked out) and thought she was pregnant when they’d been in that world for weeks and she hadn’t got her period.

She wasn’t pregnant, knew she couldn’t be. Knew there were tests and genetic tweaking before that was even possible. Not that they’d had more than a single conversation about the possibility, when they’d first slept together.

And he’d held her as she’d sobbed her grief over _not_ being pregnant though really she didn’t think she’d be able to raise a partly human-mostly Gallifreyan child on her own. But oh, in those few minutes-hours Rose had desperately wanted to try.

“He backed me up, snuck behind Torchwood’s back, did everything he could to help me get home.” Rose swallowed. “Back to you.”

She leaned back and breathed out a laugh at the Doctor’s smug-happy-adoring look but couldn’t be mad at him, or even annoyed. Not for that. Not when she knew she’d have done more, so much more than she already had to make it back to him. Her fingertips brushed along his hairline, over cheekbones and jaw and nose.

“He stole from Torchwood, from the streets, everywhere.” She tilted her head and thought about it for a second. “Might’ve even snuck into Parliament with Jake, but neither of them ever talked about that.” She shrugged and grinned. “He tinkered with the jumper for hours a day. Because he knew what it meant to me.”

She licked her lips and breathed in deeply. When Rose envisioned her explanation, it wasn’t sitting on her lover’s lap though she should’ve realized that’s how it would be. Because she wasn’t ready to let him out of her sight-touch-scent-taste-hearing.

“How many?” he asked, hand on her waist, thumbs running along the waistband of her jeans. “How did you even manage? The walls are closed, Rose. I looked. Even the TARDIS couldn’t find a crack between dimensions—those scans came back negative.”

He swallowed hard and when he spoke again his voice was harsh. “Every one. Even when you did jump through, Her scans came up with nothing.” His hands tightened. “ _Nothing._ ”

“Just the once,” she admitted. “Honestly,” she let out a little laugh, hope-surprise-joy. “I thought it’d take months, possibly years before I found you—the right you. Thought I’d be all over other universes trying to find you.”

She frowned at his frown and smoothed her fingers across his forehead. “But on our very first jump, it worked. I’ve no idea how. I mean,” she corrected, “I know how the jumper works. I was there every day. I read books on temporal physics and astronomy, astrophysics or mathematics, and theoretical everything. If I had bothered, I’m sure I’d have a PhD in several sciences by now.”

The Doctor offered her a proud smile, his eyes lighting just a little though they still bore through her. 

“You should call _me_ Doctor,” she added. Then tilted her head and laughed. “The Doctor, Doctor Rose Tyler, and Doctor Martha Jones.” She nodded. “I like it.”

The Doctor laughed but said nothing. Still, the look of love and pride in his gaze didn’t diminish.

Rose smiled, shrugged and breathed deeply. Even the air in the universe smelled different. Or maybe that was the TARDIS. She’d grown so used to smelling different planets and atmospheres and scents, Rose had stopped paying attention to what her earth was supposed to smell like. It’d always been just another planet. 

The TARDIS smelled like home. “But I don’t know why it worked on Try 1.”

“It shouldn’t have worked at all.” His hands tightened on her waist and he crushed her to him. “But I’m glad it did,” he whispered against her shoulder.

“Me, too.” Rose pulled back and breathed deeply. Really all she wanted was to feel his cooler skin against hers, to pull him into her body, but she needed to tell him the rest.

Pressing her lips to his, she kissed him softly, leisurely, letting him flow through her. Pulling back she said softly but firmly, “And then the stars started to go out.”

The Doctor stiffened. “What do you mean?” he demanded, eyes sharp. His hands stilled. “Stars just don’t go out.”

“I know,” Rose readily agreed. “But they were. And the governments were in a panic and either throwing money at the problem or cutting back. Mickey had friends in Torchwood, he’d worked with them for years before…” she trailed off and licked her lips again. She could still taste him. “Before Canary Wharf.”

“Rose,” he said patiently but she could see interest and worry in his eyes. His fingers were tight on her waist and the tension in him vibrated along his arms. “Stars just don’t go out.”

“I know,” she agreed again with a sigh. “But they were. We don’t know what’s going on. It’s only a few, a dozen at the most, but we can’t explain it.”

“And that’s when Mickey used your TARDIS key?” the Doctor demanded and pulled the chain she kept her key on from underneath her shirt.

He shifted, kept her on his lap (not ready to let go), but reached for his glasses. Sonic in one hand, the dimension jumper in the other, he went to work. Rose tried to shift, to move out of the way, but the Doctor kept one arm firmly around her waist.

Giving up, she leaned her head against his shoulder. “Mum wanted me to kiss you from her,” she said and waited for the reaction.

She wasn’t disappointed, but then he looked at her with shock and suspicion and nausea and she laughed. Soft and hurt and there was a hint of tears there, but Rose laughed. She pressed her lips to his neck. Though she loved his ties, all the better to pull him toward her, she missed when he’d taken to wearing shirts that exposed his neck.

Easier to kiss all that deliciously exposed skin.

“How is Jackie?” he asked, peering into the insides of the dimension jumper. “Pregnant, yes?”

Rose stilled for half a heartbeat and debated telling him of her scare-anticipation-worry-joy-pain. But then she decided not to. Not now.

“Yeah, a boy. Tony. They’re thrilled.” Rose bit back a sob, but had left letters and video and a stash of emergency cash for Tony with instructions on how to run if it ever came to that. She’d made Mickey promise to keep an eye on him and knew her oldest friend would honor that promise. “She keeps him away from Torchwood; doesn’t trust them no matter what. But if they could help me, she was all for them.”

“A woman of many contradictions, your mum.” He laughed. But she heard a catch there, sorrow and regret and even affection.

Rose laughed and the band tightening her chest eased just a little. “They’re terrified of her at Torchwood. Fall over themselves to accommodate her. It’s actually really funny. But she doesn’t trust them. And when the stars started disappearing, she threatened them, the President, the World Council, and every other dignitary she came within ten feet of.”

His hands stilled and he pushed back to look at her in horror. “She didn’t say anything about being from another universe did she?” he demanded, hands gripping her shoulders tightly.

Rose hurriedly shook her head. “No. No, she knew better. She wasn’t going to put me, her, Mickey, or even you in any danger.”

“Jackie Tyler is a formidable woman,” he said with a crooked smile.

“Yeah,” Rose agreed and returned her head to his shoulder, content to sit there and talk while he worked. “But she wasn’t about to give up, either. She’s the reason…” Rose stopped.

She wanted to tell him everything, but didn’t want to admit how weak and afraid and broken she’d been. His fingers stopped once more and the sonic stopped its whirling.

_“Rose.”_

The word held a wealth of meaning and she nodded but didn’t move to look at him. Rose didn’t need to. Instead she took his hand and wrapped her fingers through his. Resting their hands on her belly, Rose took a deep breath.

“Mickey didn’t trust Torchwood as much as he’d originally let on,” she began. “Said there were a lot of sneaky people out for their own gain.” Rose didn’t mention that she’d talked Pete into firing Adam, of the hole in his head Adam, because she hadn’t trusted him to be different over there.

No need to bring up Adam, the Dalek, or the aftermath of _that_ landing.

“And mum consigned them to the fiery pits of the seven hells,” she added with a wry smile. “Pete swore they were different, but…” she trailed off. She’d never been certain of that.

“But you worked there,” the Doctor said quietly. A hint of judgment-censure-disapproval.

“Yes,” she allowed. How could she explain her need, her desperate need to do something, feel something, work towards something? “I thought about going back to school,” she began. “Studying toward a career of some sort. Or taking Pete’s money and traveling the world.”

Rose shrugged and leaning against the table to better see him. She saw suspicion and worry in his dark gaze. Cupping his cheek she smiled. “I needed them. And they needed me. I knew a lot more about aliens than anyone there. But I never said how. Or what I’d done. If even a hint of what I’d seen and done, of the Void Matter on me or the Time Vortex,” her voice broke. “I didn’t know what they’d do to me.”

The Doctor had nothing to say. Rose didn’t know what she expected him to say, but his unusual silence was unnerving. He stared at her for several long moments before pulling her to him. She hated not knowing what he was thinking or feeling; it was rare towards the…end…of their time together. She could always tell or at least usually had a hint.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, lips against her neck, holding her close. His chin rested on her shoulder. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come through properly. I’m sorry you had to do that. I’m sorry I… _Rose_ ,” he breathed in that way he had of saying her name. Love-need-hope. “I’m sorry you had to deal with them.”

He pulled back and kissed her, a hard, branding kiss she returned. “But I’m glad you had Jackie and Mickey.”

“When…after…I was broken,” she admitted. “Mickey was there, Pete was great setting me up with a history and whatnot. But mum. No one says no to Jackie. She…supported me,” Rose decided. The word seemed inadequate but all too true.

“And then she and Pete were really together and she was pregnant but that didn’t stop her. Nothing ever does. And Tony’s smart. Adorable.” Rose sniffed and wiped the back of her hand over her cheeks. “I have pictures of him in my mobile. I’ll show you later.”

His lips pressed against her temple. “I’m sorry Rose. You’ll never see them again.” His voice caught and he dropped his sonic and pulled her closer. “But I’m so glad you found a way back.”

Rose turned to him. She kissed him softly, eyes on his. “Me, too.”


	9. Chapter 9

The Doctor gently tucked an afghan around Rose and kissed the top of her head as she lay curled in her chair. He watched her for a few moments, content to simply know she was there. Not a vision or hallucination or a dream as had happened so many nights before. He could touch her and see her and even smell the clean scent of her, underlain with that uniquely Rose scent he’d spent so much time cataloging.

He’d tasted her, kissed her lush mouth, rediscovered her body, breathed in her arousal and tasted that, too. Heard her breathy cries and shouts of his name as she climaxed; felt her hands on his body and her mouth as she, too, rediscovered him.

Yet even as she drew him to her, even as he wanted to curl around her and hold her tight to him lest she be snatched away once more, the Doctor also wanted to move away. Protect his heart from her inevitable…

He couldn’t even think of the word and yet as much as that future terrified him, made him want to deny it, he couldn’t leave Rose. He’d tried that once. It’d broken both their hearts.

( _You just leave us behind. Is that what you're going to do to me?_ And he’d have to have been dead not to have heard the pain in her voice. Confusion and pain and that deep seated Rose need to understand. Not to feel it slice through his own hearts. They might not have resumed their physical relationship, not then not yet, but his words were the absolute truth. So he said the only thing he could have. The only thing that skirted what she needed to hear and what he couldn’t say. _You wither and you die. Imagine watching that happen to someone who you…_ Love. Need. Depend on. Watch the sun rise and set with.)

Reluctantly moving away from his lover, his love, the Doctor returned to his worktable and the abandoned dimension jumper. He’d wanted to take Rose back to their bed and spend the next forever remembering every sound, scent, taste of her arousal. To keep her hidden away with him. But they’d been frantic and awkward on the table before they’d crashed to the floor where Rose rode him hard. Only at the last minute had she leaned down, even as her orgasm crashed through her, to initiate their bond. She’d cried out his name in the instant before he’d come.

He hadn’t wanted to leave her, had wanted to stay there on the floor with her wrapped around him and never move. Just in case she disappeared again as she had so many times before in his dreams. But he needed to know why the dimension jumper had worked. And what it meant that the stars were going out.

Part of him, a very big part, didn’t want to question why it’d worked so exactly on Rose’s first jump. But he didn’t really believe in luck. Well, in good luck. In his good fortune.

And then there was Jack and his seemingly miraculous appearance at the same moment in the same place. The universe was trying to tell him something, the Doctor was certain of it. He just didn’t know what and that worried him.

Because he’d just gotten Rose back (she’d just found her way back to him) and he didn’t want to look too closely. But he had to, both for his own peace of mind and to ensure nothing could take her away.

But he’d promised her a trip to Ealing to see Sarah Jane. He hadn’t seen the other woman since after…

Sarah had called him, clearly upset. She’d looked outside, that’s all it had taken, and seen the Daleks. And the ghosts turned Cybermen. In between berating him for not carrying a phone and not giving her Rose’s number, and not answering the TARDIS phone, she’d demanded answers. That was his Sarah Jane, always looking for answers. 

But then her voice had caught. And she’d admitted, tearfully, fearfully, that she’d read the reports of missing and dead. The chaotic aftermath. The list of names where both Rose and Jackie and Mickey had been listed. 

He’d put them there, numbed and stunned and not sure what to do. He’d debated putting Mickey’s name on there as well. ( _Rose, do you think we should add Mickey’s name? He’s already missing according to London records, this will make it…_ But Rose hadn’t answered and when he looked up, there was no one in the console room with him. He was alone.) In the end, he’d added Mickey Smith’s name to the list.

All the Doctor could do was offer Sarah the briefest of reassurances that Rose was still alive. Just not with him. He’d still lost her.

_(I lost her, Sarah. I lost her. She’s…I can’t bring her back. She’s alive, but I can’t bring her back to me.)_

Settling down to tinker, the sudden presence of Winston startled him. The cat had pretty much avoided him since Rose…. Actually, the cat had definitely avoided him. No maybes about it. The Doctor hadn’t minded. Mostly.

Though it might’ve been nice to at least have some company other than his thoughts (he should’ve taken that lever, he could’ve held on longer) constantly screaming inside his head. The one place he couldn’t run from.

Now that Rose was back, Winston once more made his presence known. “And where have you been hiding yourself?” the Doctor asked the cat who looked up at him with large, knowing eyes.

“Not talking? I do speak cat, you’d think you’d remember that.”

Still no answer. The Doctor sighed and tentatively scratched Winston behind the ears. He hadn’t minded the animal at first _(Rose, we’re not keeping pets)_ but Winston had grown on him. Rather, Rose’s affection for the cat had grown on him. Even this body didn’t mind Winston. Even when the cat reminded him a little too much of cat-nuns and killer chases through a hospital. _(But Doctor, it’s not Winston’s fault those vicious can-nuns attacked you. And besides, he’s part of the TARDIS. Part of our family.)_

Winston only looked up at him silently, not admitting anything, curled up beside the dimension jumper as the Doctor studied its insides. Pretty routine, nothing out of the ordinary. A bit more basic than a Vortex Manipulator, and he’d have to have a look at Jack’s again. Make sure the man couldn’t go jumping all over creation. Though he seemed to want to settle in back on the TARDIS.

Actually, Jack seemed to have taken a liking to Martha. The Doctor snorted at that. He’d have to warn Jack off Martha—or warn Martha about Jack.

Maybe leaving them in Martha’s apartment hadn’t been his best idea.

No, definitely not his wisest move, but he’d still been reeling (was still reeling) from finding Rose again. Or her finding him. That he hadn’t thought much beyond keeping her. Alone. In the TARDIS. With him.

Winston stretched and a lone light suddenly shone on the creature; warm, simulated sunlight.

Glaring up at the ceiling of his ship, the Doctor once more wondered where and how Winston had survived all those months on his own and what part, and he knew there was a part played, his ship had in that.

“Find anything?” Rose asked.

He hadn’t heard her stir, but immediately the warmth of her body pressed against his back and the Doctor felt all his tension slide away. Maybe not all, but quite a bit and it felt right to have her there again. (No more running, I can’t run from you anymore.) Since she’d been…gone-taken-vanished-disappeared all he carried was tension.

Tension.  
Anger.  
Self-loathing.  
Self-hatred.  
Disgust.  
Rage.

Oh, so much rage. But one touch from her had always been enough to if not sooth or calm him, then at least clear his head. Ground him.

“It’s just a normal Vortex Manipulator,” he said. There were hundreds of things he wanted to say. Wanted to tell her. Wanted to share with her and show her and be with her. But he’d spent so much time keeping things to himself and hiding away (even from, especially from) himself. 

Even to Rose.

How did he even begin? Where did he start? He’d dreamed about a reunion with her every night. Every day. All the time. And never once in all those dreams-hopes-fantasies had he thought past that. In his mind, once they’d miraculously reunited, it was the same as it’d been before.

Rose Tyler and the Doctor. In the TARDIS. (With Winston.) Just as it should be.

But now, faced with that reality, he found himself freezing at the thought of showing-telling-talking-being with her. What if she was taken from him again? _(You wither and die…)_ He wouldn’t be able to move on.

He couldn’t go through that again. Taking a deep breath, and using his considerable brain to shove those thoughts to the back of his mind, the Doctor turned and smiled. It wasn’t as strong as he’d have liked, or even as convincing as she’d have liked if her concerned look was anything to go by.

“Okay,” he conceded. “A bit more than your average Vortex Manipulator, but how did you even come up with this technology?”

“Pete and Mickey did.” Rose shrugged. He wasn’t fooled that she’d drop the subject but for now that was okay. For now, she let him have his moment. For now, it was enough. “It’s how they came over…that first time.” She swallowed and shrugged again. “But then they followed the Cybermen through, this time there were all these cracks. Least that’s what the scans showed. I don’t know where they came from, might have something to do with the stars going out.”

“I still don’t understand that.” The Doctor shook his head and leaned back in his chair. His hands rested on Rose’s hips, once more clad in a pair of jeans. He was torn between having her clothed before him—always a good idea if he wanted to get anything done—and naked so he could feel her skin beneath his fingertips.

Feel her there, remind himself she stood before him.

“Stars don’t just go out, Rose. It’s not like flipping a switch.”

“I know. But they were.” She shook her head. “Haven’t noticed it here?”

“No,” he said slowly. “But time moves faster…there.”

And he hadn’t exactly been paying attention to, well, things. Flitting from one place to another, barely leaving time to sleep (white walls and the wind of time and the pull of hell) or think. They’d ask Sarah Jane when they visited. If anyone knew, she would.

“This,” the Doctor said and turned back to the table. He nudged Winston off the opened dimension jumper with a snort. The cat hadn’t bothered with him in months and now he couldn’t get rid of the creature.

“This,” he repeated and poked the chip with a long, thin set of tweezers. “It’s what punches through dimensions.”

He froze and cursed himself for not thinking of this before. “Rose,” he said slowly. He stopped and looked up at her. Her hand rested on his shoulder and when she met his gaze, it was with a puzzled frown. “Rose,” he repeated. “When you jumped, when you punched through…it wasn’t the first test, was it?”

Rose snorted. “No. Please, Doctor. Have a little faith in me!”

He breathed out a sigh of relief. “I do,” he whispered. Clearing his throat fingers clenched around the tweezers, he looked at her, curious. “Did you send through living test subjects?”

“No. I was…” Rose shrugged again. She leaned against the tabletop and studied him, then leaned over and picked up Winston who purred and cooed and snuggled into her embrace. Traitorous cat. But when she looked back at him, her gaze held no secrets or ruse or even surprises.

Because Rose Tyler was no victim.

“Some of the techs wanted to. They wanted,” she added with a scowl, “to send across a bird or cat. But all the inanimate objects we sent through came back as they were. Our scans revealed no trace of a mutation. Granted,” she added with a fond smile at the ceiling. “Our scans were nowhere near as sophisticated as the TARDIS’s, but they revealed no mutations, transformations, changes, alterations, or anything of the like.”

The Doctor nodded. His hands moved again, without him quite realizing it, and grasped her hips once more. 

“And so you, my jeopardy-friendly Rose Tyler, made the first jump.” His hearts squeezed in terror and pride, and he found himself smiling up at her with a grin he couldn’t quite stop.

“Someone had to. And I’d be damned if Mickey got to you first.”

The Doctor laughed, hands tight on her hips, and pulled her close. Winston let out an indignant yelp, but he didn’t care. Rose let the cat leap back onto the table, her hand tangling in his hair and her arms pulled him tighter and he thought that if he could simply stay here, merge their bodies right now, everything would be alright.

He indulged in that fantasy for a heartbeat, two, double, then pulled back.

“Come one,” he said. Part of him wanting to quiz her further on the stars. On the jumper. On her life there. Part of him wanted to run from all of that in case it caught up with them.

Because it always did. Always.

“Let’s go explore. I need a little time with you before we visit Sarah.” He took a deep breath. “We’ll leave Martha and Jack in her flat.” The Doctor paused then asked slowly and really tried not to worry, “How much trouble can he cause in a day?”

Rose snorted. “You’ve just jinxed it.” Then she shrugged. “He’s Jack. He can cause trouble in a minute with a Jack Smile. Then again,” she added thoughtfully, “Martha didn’t seem too upset at being left with him.”

Concerned that he’d essentially left a woman he’d grown to care for in the hands of _Jack Harkness_ , the Doctor pulled back and started to turn. Maybe he shouldn’t leave them alone. Maybe he should go back now and see, just see, what happened.

“Doctor,” Rose said with a smile. She hadn’t let him get far. “She’s a big girl. If Martha doesn’t want Jack, he’ll respect those boundaries. Jack’s many things, but he knows when not to push.”

Mollified, because he knew Rose was right, he nodded. Then breathed out slowly and nodded again. He trusted Jack, of course he did. Even though the other man was more than a little angry (and rightly so) with him, the Doctor trusted the captain to always do what was right.

Bigger on the inside, indeed.

“We’ll pick them up 12 hours their time.” He pulled her to him and gave his lover-Rose-everything a wolfish grin. “Who knows what we can get up to in that time? I need…” the Doctor swallowed and pressed her against the wall of the TARDIS. She hummed in the background, happy and content and maybe, he thought, just a bit smug.

“I need you.”

“Yes,” she whimpered.

Rose’s mouth, hungry and hard, crashed against his. Her hands tangled in his hair and her body pressed hard to his. They didn’t make it far, just to the library and the floor before the always-roaring fireplace.

The Doctor didn’t care. And when he entered her, when she cried out his name, he knew he was home. 

No, he was never going to be able to let her go. Not now that she’d made her way back to him. And as much as his normal instinct was to run as far and fast from heartache as possible, he couldn’t let her go. He couldn’t leave Rose.

Ever.

And it didn’t matter what it all meant, what the stars going out meant, he’d fight the fabric of time and the universe itself to keep her.


	10. Chapter 10

She’d wanted to see gardens, any garden with flowers and greenery. With the scent of a thousand, thousand blossoms on the faint breeze and the textures and colors of every conceivable flora in the known universe. This?

“This isn’t what I expected on our first date!” Rose whispered over the oppressive heat and that stupid computer and the shouts of engines gone wrong as the Doctor held her close and kissed her hard.

“I never promised you ordinary, Rose Tyler,” he said with a cheeky grin. His eyes gave him away and Rose saw the fear and pain and uncertainty in his brown gaze as he held her a little tighter. A little longer.

She kissed him again. Hard, quick, with a smile. Her hand cupped his cheek and when she spoke, she hoped he could hear the sincerity in her words. “I love you anyway. Forever.”

No matter what happens.

With that, she spun and raced behind Riley. No, this wasn’t how she expected their first date now that she was back. Then again, they’d seen the end of the Earth on their first Date 1 and New Earth on their second Date 1.

At least there was no Cassandra for this date. That really would’ve been too much.

Besides, Rose should’ve figured this was par for the course. Their third Date 1 was more adventure and running for their lives than spending quality alone time together. Maybe she should’ve insisted on visiting Sarah Jane first. Or simply floated in the Vortex so they could talk and make love and simply feel each other.

Her fingers itched to touch him, to explore his body and remember how he felt under hands and fingers and mouth and tongue. Or to feel the satisfying aftermath of their bond buzzing in the back of her mind just after they’d both climaxed. That thread of connection between them that never really went away but never fully blossomed into a full connection.

A ship crashing into the sun?  
Murderous crewmen on board?  
Lives depending on some stupid pub quiz?

“Where’s Mickey when you need him?” She grumbled.

The memory of her friend brought a wave of pain. She knew it would happen if she was successful in finding the Doctor, and they’d talked about it. Had spent long hours-days-weeks reminiscing and planning for the future and promising each other they’d never forget the other. One day, perhaps, she’d be able to think of her oldest friend without this pain. One day, she’d remember only the good times and the friendship. One day, the distance of an entire universe and so many, too many, unanswered questions wouldn’t make her want to sob.

Today was not that day.

“Oh, this is a nightmare. Classical music. Who had the most pre-download number ones, Elvis Presley or The Beetles?” Riley moaned. Rose could _hear_ him pronounce the Beatles wrong. “How are we supposed to know that?”

“Elvis,” she said, then paused. She’d feel old in a moment—Elvis as classical? Oh, her life was a strange, strange world. “No, wait…I don’t know!” Grumbling, she went to hit the intercom for the Doctor, but he had other things on his mind, considerable as that mind was.

And as she really had no idea what a Happy Prime Number was, she felt quite justified in asking him that question.

Fumbling for her phone, Rose called Martha. “Classical music,” she grumbled as it rang. “Elvis as classical music? At least they’ll have the internet.”

“Bit busy right now!” Martha screamed into the phone.

“Nice legs, Martha,” Rose heard Jack shout over what sounded like a dinosaur screeching. Rose shuddered at the sound even as she frowned into the phone as if it knew what was happening.

“What the hell?” She asked instead.

“Can’t it wait?” Martha demanded.

“Martha?” Rose asked, her current situation forgotten. Or, no, just frozen (oh the irony) at Martha and Jack’s frantic shouting. “What’s happening?”

“Oh, you know,” she gasped.

“Sounds like he switched on the machine!” Jack shouted then cursed. Rose heard what sounded like wires being pulled apart and twisted back together. Jack was going to electrocute himself and Martha.

The screech came through again. Maybe electrocution was better than dino dinner.

“Damn,” Jack shouted. “He’s smarter than he looks—as human or scorpion. I was hoping we’d have a little more time.”

“Rose,” Martha shouted into the phone as Jack told her to hold something. “We’re in a little bit of a situation. Human, mutation, giant scorpion. Think you and the Doctor can help?”

Cursing again, Rose wiped the sweat off her forehead. To Riley she guessed, “Elvis.” And hoped she was right. 50-50 chance and all. Back to her mobile she said, “Sorry, Martha. You two are on your own. Crashing a spaceship into the sun with murderous crewmen on board.”

“Life is never dull!” Martha shouted back just as the whine of the machine echoed along time, space, and mobile. “Jack, I don’t want to hurry you, but—”

“Yeah, yeah. Almost there.”

“Martha, good luck!” Rose shouted into the phone.

“You, too!” she called back.

Breaking the connection, Martha looked down at Jack who frantically tried to wire together all the wires he’d just pulled apart. “What’re you doing?” she demanded.

“I'm trying to set the capsule to reflect energy rather than receive it,” he said. Then, because that’s who Jack was, and she’d learned a little more about him in the last half-day they spent talking and finding him a tux after that _I will change what it means to be human_ news conference, he grinned up at her and winked.

“Drinks after we save the world?” he asked, still frantically working, his eyes back on his project, but the humor and suggestive hint in his voice was clear.

Fighting a blush, this so wasn’t the time, Martha handed him the wire she’d been holding and ignored his invitation. “Will that kill it?”

“Nope. Well, if we’re really, really lucky, but probably not. No, with luck, just a little,” Jack said as he wired things together. “It’ll just weaken him.”

“Weaken?” She shouted over the screaming creature and the whine of the machine. “Oh, if we end up like him, Jack Harkness, I’m going to hunt you down first and kill you myself!”

He grinned up at her, winked once more then stood. In a move she didn’t see coming, but supposed she should’ve, Jack held her close and pressed his lips to hers. It wasn’t a real kiss, just a press of lips, in a here’s hoping it works and we don’t explode kind of way. But it stopped Martha’s mind from racing in hysterical circles.

Suddenly the screaming and the screeching and the whine of machinery stopped. Pulling back, she glared up at him. “We better not be like him,” she warned.

But her voice sounded slightly breathless and her heart pounded way harder than it had while she’d been handing him wires and shouting at Rose and generally running for her life.

“Rose!” she said and grabbed her mobile. They stepped out of the machine and looked to where the now-human body of the monster lay.

“Where are they?” Jack asked, eyeing the human Lazarus with disdain.

“On a spaceship about to crash into the sun.” She paused and waited. “No answer.”

Martha looked up at Jack and for a long moment neither said anything. He looked lost and confused and yes, there was still that hint of bitter anger, but then he smiled and the relaxed Jack she’d grown to know swung an arm over her shoulders.

“They’ll be fine,” he assured her. “The Doctor won’t ever let anything bad happen to Rose—if he can help it.”

At a loss for words, and not certain whether either of them believed that statement, Martha allowed him to lead her outside where her mum, Tish, and Leo waited. Jack had charmed all three, which really shouldn’t have surprised her. Some of the anger-resentment-bitterness she’d carried herself vanished in the face of all this.

She was as good as Rose. Well, she’d known Rose for less than a day. But the Doctor had always made her feel inferior to Rose no matter what the situation. Rose would know, Rose would do this, Rose would see that.

He’d been responsible for Martha’s resentment of the other woman and in her feeling inferior. No more. Being with Jack, who treated everyone to a grin and a wink and a good flirt, had made Martha further embrace her Adventurous Martha side.

And it felt good.

Her lips still tingled from where his pressed to hers. And her skin warmed from his touch. And she was certain she was reading entirely too much into that brief embrace. As they stood with her mum, who eyed Jack with a mother-curiosity Martha had never seen (bringing dates home had never really happened when she’d been so focused on schooling). But she’d have to warn Tish away.

Because for the time being, Adventurous Martha was going to see where this thing with Jack went. If there was a thing with Jack. And if he was interested in her as more than a fling or one night stand.

Definitely reading too much into it.

“Captain you said?” her mum asked, eyeing him warily. “Captain of what?”

“I’m sorry, Francine,” Jack said with his most charming smile. “I can’t tell you.” Then he looked around as if anyone even noticed they were there, what with had just happened inside. “Classified.”

Martha suppressed a snort, but Leo looked even more interested and her mum slightly mollified. Which was interesting, considering Martha couldn’t remember the last time her mum had been mollified over anything without a good argument or three.

“And where did you meet him, Martha?” Tish asked.

“Mutual friend,” Jack said, as she scrambled to figure out a way to define who the Doctor was and how she’d met him (last night as far as this time thing went) and all that had happened in the days-hours between then and now.

Seriously, she could kiss Jack Harkness for having the answers. Then again, maybe he was a bit too smooth?

She needed to stop doing that before she drove herself mad.

“A doctor friend,” Martha added and in her head, _doctor_ meant the Doctor. “I met him at the hospital and I’ve been helping him with a couple things.” She waved her hand as if to encompass all the doctory stuff her family never asked about.

They nodded, but her mum looked like she had more questions. But then they were racing towards Southwark Cathedral thanks to Tish and her conversation with Lazarus.

And then Jack was laughing, harsh and tired, and Martha ached for the loneliness of living for over 60 years out of his time and waiting for answers, knowing he could never die. “I’m old enough to know that a longer life isn’t always a better one. In the end, you just get tired. Tired of the struggle, tired of losing everyone that matters to you, tired of watching everything turn to dust.” He stopped and glanced at Martha.

“If you live long enough, Lazarus,” he said almost too softly for Martha to hear, “the only certainty left is that you'll end up alone.”

His words tore at her, and Martha wanted to tell him he wasn’t alone, but she was busy running up the many, many, _many_ flights of stairs while Jack tried to distract the madman. When Lazarus followed them, changed into the giant mutated scorpion, Jack raced after him.

Martha didn’t see what happened, what with hanging over the broken balcony, but she heard Jack grunt then saw the blur that was Scorpion-Lazarus pass her as he fell over the side. Tish screamed for Jack to help, and they both pulled her up to safety.

Over the side, Martha looked down at Lazarus, once more human. No one could’ve survived that fall. Jack ushered she and Tish out before he returned to double check. She didn’t want to know what he did or how he checked.

“Drink?” Jack asked as he rejoined her outside.

“Oh, yes,” Martha agreed.

She dialed Rose’s mobile again, but once more the other woman didn’t pick up. She’d call Rose later, but figured if she and the Doctor were having the kind of day Martha and Jack had just survived, answering a mobile was the last thing on Rose’s mind. But there was nothing she or Jack could do to help, except hope for the best for their friends.

Friends. Hmm. Yes, Martha decided with a decisive nod Jack seemed to take as agreement for a drink. They were her friends. New friends, even the Doctor—especially the Doctor. Martha decided to try and get to know him without the attraction-infatuation-lust she’d first felt. She’d get to know him, and Rose, as friends.

As for Jack…she’d let him buy her a drink, first.


	11. Chapter 11

Rose looked around the small garden and sighed happily at the familiar silence-noise-color-joy of London. There were many similarities between that world _(I just can’t call it home, mum, I’m sorry but it’s not my home.)_ and this one. And though Mickey thought she was daft and her mum just looked at her strangely when she swore even the air smelled different, she knew it did. The scent of New York was one of the reasons she knew this was the right world.

But she wasn't going to think about that right now. Not the Mystery of the First Try as she'd taken to thinking about her suspiciously successful first jump. Or Jack’s sudden appearance in the exact place and time Rose herself arrived. Or even what the Doctor had said about him being such a fixed point and making his Time Sense feel like nails on a chalkboard.

No, right now she wanted to simply enjoy being back.

Home.  
Family.  
Domestic even, though the Doctor would never utter those words without disdain.

The air in Sarah Jane’s garden smelled just right. Sunlight and that wet-earth-after-the-rain scent, and a hundred flowers in riotous bloom. No, her gardens weren't the gorgeous constructions of George III or the Kew Gardens they'd visited or that planet where individual city-states competed to see who had the most variety of the most exotic flowers. What had that been called? Rose couldn't remember, they'd visited several planets known for their gardens (but never Versailles for obvious reasons and which the Doctor never so much as hinted at it, bless his hearts) after their rather sauna-like experience on the S.S. Pentallian she'd rather forget.

The air was a beautiful spring day, a slight breeze that danced over her skin and made her shiver with memories and wants and a very strong desire to drag the Doctor back to the TARDIS.

“Did you miss it?”

Rose turned to look at Sarah with a smile. She followed the other woman to a low wall around the garden and sat next to her. Taking her time to gather her thoughts, she closed her eyes and raised her face to the sunlight.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I missed a lot about this universe. I had my mum there, and Mickey and a few friends, but I never felt settled. Home.” Rose paused and waited for the grief to pass. “Sometimes I think my mum being dead would at least give me closure, but I did get to say goodbye to them.”

Pausing, she tried to regroup. She hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t meant to really tell Sarah anything as remotely personal as that. But they’d grown close, after that initial meeting.

 _(Sarah Jane Smith. I used to travel with the Doctor._ Pride and boasting and a self-assurance Rose had been sorely lacking with the new new Doctor. _Oh. Well, he's never mentioned you._ Catty, and did she have to be so catty, so young and mean? _Oh, I must've done. Sarah Jane. Mention her all the time._ Jealous and heartbreak and maybe she hadn’t meant anything to him, not the last him, definitely not this him. And damn it, she was still nasty. _Hold on. Sorry. Never._ And she had felt sorry for Sarah Jane Smith when she heard those words and the sheer shock and disbelief in her voice. _What, not even once? He didn't mention me even once?)_

“You’re never going to see her or Mickey again,” Sarah said softly.

“No, but they’re happy. Mum met an alternative version of my dad, and she and Pete are happy. Have a little boy now, Tony.”

Sarah looked pleased and surprised. “Really? Isn’t that strange. That she just happened to meet another version of your dad there.”

“Didn’t the Doctor tell you?” Rose asked but of course she already knew and was shaking her head. “No,” she said softly. “No, I supposed he didn’t.”

Debating how much she wanted to tell Sarah, or where to even begin, Rose shook herself. “Not today,” she whispered and smiled brightly at Sarah. “We’ll talk about it another day. Today is for a fresh start.”

( _I really like her_ , Rose admitted as they crossed the Estates on the worst day of her life. Yeah? The Doctor asked, smiling that bright I love it when you like something I do smile. _I can see how she kept you on your toes_ , she teased. He’d laughed and squeezed her hand. _Sarah’s one of a kind. It means a lot to me that you two get along so well._ )

“Where’s the Doctor?” Rose asked, eyeing the house suspiciously but not moving to find him.

“Inside with a promise not to touch anything,” Sarah admitted with a laugh. “I think he and K9 are reacquainting themselves.”

They shared another laugh and Rose listened while Sarah told her of what she’d been doing since their last meeting. “UNIT has grown more militant and Torchwood is just as bad,” Sarah concluded.

Rose shuddered but said nothing. She had mixed feelings about Torchwood and had never met anyone from UNIT—it didn’t exist on that other Earth. “Torchwood was responsible for the Cybermen and Daleks,” she murmured. “But in the other world, they weren’t as bad. Pete, my dad, took down the worst of them. Still,” she said with a forced smile. “I don’t trust them.”

“Nor I,” Sarah admitted. “But then I find myself more pacifist than I used to be. Or maybe I’m just old.”

“Naa,” Rose promised and slipped her arm through Sarah’s, hugging her close. She made a silent promise to keep in better touch with Sarah now that she was back. Sarah was family now, and she wouldn’t let either herself or the Doctor forget that. “It’s not that. It’s the world. Hard to know where the line is between protecting ourselves and trusting another’s word.”

Sarah didn’t say anything for a moment, but a small smile played around her lips. Rose smiled back, but her gaze drifted to the house. She’d been outside for a while now, a half hour or so at least, and was surprised the Doctor hadn’t come find her yet.

“He muttered something about trying to talk to Jack and Martha about that Richard Lazarus debacle,” Sarah said, as if reading her mind.

“I haven’t been back long,” Rose admitted softly as they stood. “It’s hard being out of each other’s sight.”

“He was a wreck, Rose,” Sarah said as they slowly made their way indoors. “I only talked to him the once, after I read…the Canary Wharf reports,” she said diplomatically and Rose was grateful.

“I think Martha’s done him some good,” Rose admitted and was quite proud of herself for sounding reasonable and clear. She knew the Doctor loved her, there was no reason for jealousy and yet that small part of her couldn’t quite let go of that old distrust.

“And Captain Harkness?” Sarah asked. “What do you know of him?”

“We met him during the Blitz and he traveled with us for a while.” Rose said with a fond smile. She tried not to let the aftermath of the Daleks color her happiness over Jack being alive and well and here. “It’s where we found Winston.”

“Winston?”

“Our cat.” Rose laughed. “Obviously named after Winston Churchill.”

They headed for the house where the Doctor stood at the doorway, arms and legs crossed, slight frown creasing his forehead, eyes riveted on her, simply waiting. His smile grew, and he visibly relaxed as if ever muscle loosened at the mere sight of her, He didn’t move, but he did drop his arms from where they tightly folded over his chest, and he straightened and pushed away from the doorway. He didn’t run to her, though she knew he wanted to.

No, he simply stood there and waited. Watched her. Strangely, at the edges of her mind Rose felt their bond buzzing to life.

Smiling at the gentle caress at the edges of her mind, Rose felt her own tension ease and wondered how long before she could breathe again with him not around. Knowing he’d come back, that she’d come back, that a simple walk in the gardens _(I just…want to see the gardens_ , she tried, wondering what she was trying to prove. _Breathe a little fresh Real Earth air.)_

She doubted he believed her, but he let her go alone, and she was grateful to know they could both manage a short separation without completely breaking down. Rose had a feeling it was only a matter of time before Jack started teasing them, but didn’t care. She could handle Jack’s teasing, they’d dealt with him in the early stages of their relationship, they could learn to deal with him again.

“I’ve never seen him smile like that,” Sarah admitted and pulled away from her. “You’re good for him, Rose.”

Still smiling, feeing full and whole and loved, Rose turned to her friend. “So are you, Sarah.”

The other woman smiled, offered a short laugh, and entered her home. Rose waited as the Doctor walked up to her, arms slipping around her and pulling her close. Closer. He breathed deeply, hands slipping beneath her jumper and light jacket to splay across her bare back.

“You were gone ages,” he whispered into her hair.

“Felt like it,” she agreed, unable to joke about separation. Not that, anything but that.

Pulling back just enough to kiss him, she explored his mouth, letting the taste of him spread through her. It wasn’t an arousing kiss, though as always Rose felt a coil of heat move through her. Rather, it was a kiss of memory and want and assurance.

“Missed you,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

He held her closer, if that was possible, and despite their distance, their lack of physical intimacy at that moment, their bond buzzed and caressed and opened up to him in a way she’d never experienced except right at the height of pleasure. She looked up at him, lover-love-soul, and knew he felt it far stronger than she. Was it because of their separation? Minds and souls reaching across to touch the other after so long without? She’d ask him, but not right now. Not today when things were still, again, new.

Taking a deep breath she asked, “What happened with Martha and Jack?”

The Doctor laughed and pulled back. Hand wrapped tightly around hers, he led her back to the small garden as he told her what the other two had told him. Rose rested her head on his shoulder and let the story flow over her.

They sat on the same wall she and Sarah Jane had, and Rose kept her head on his shoulder, feeling the solid comfort of her lover.

****  
“Would you like to travel alone?” the Doctor asked, voice quiet.

He’d shifted as he told her about Lazarus and Jack’s rather ingenious method for reflecting energy in the scientist’s machine. He hadn’t the opportunity to quiz Sarah yet on disappearing stars, but figured if she noticed she’d have said something by now, reunion or not. Straddling the low wall, Rose nestled between his legs, the Doctor embraced the feeling of contentment that enveloped them.

“Just us?” Rose asked, already knowing what he meant.

“Yeah,” he said softly, lips brushing the top of her head. “I’m sure Jack and Martha will understand.”

He’d be taking Jack out of his own time _again_ and wasn’t sure how he felt about that. But he craved time with Rose. Craved it more than he did air.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, fingers caressing the tops of his hands. Her head lolled to the side and he felt her looking up at him. “Yes. But I don’t want to leave him again.” She poked his wrist sharply. “And you owe him that much.”

“I’d come back,” the Doctor admitted, somewhat sheepishly. “This time.”

Rose’s soft laugh brushed over him like a caress. “I know. I know you would. This time.” She lapsed into silence again. “What do you want to do?”

Stay here.  
Make love to her.  
Never let her go.  
The very thought of letting her go, of watching her slip away, of watching her vanish terrified him beyond words. But no matter how his normal instinct was to run, leaving Rose was never again an option. He knew he’d never survive it again.

“I’d promised Martha one trip,” he said slowly. “It turned into three. One past, one future, one make up for the mess New New York turned out to be.”

“Tell me about that sometime? New New York, yes. I want to know what happened there. But New York, too. Something happened that’s scared you.”

The Doctor’s hands tightened on hers and he knew she felt the tension stiffening his body. “Later.” he said, voice hoarse.

Rose nodded, and he knew he’d tell her, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not knowing that the four Daleks had survived, who had taken her from him, had survived—again. And one still remained. The scourge of the universe, indeed. Damn them for never dying when everyone else did.

“You care for her.”

It wasn’t a question and the Doctor paused to think about his answer. “Yes. She was…”

There when you weren’t.  
Helped me see the world again.  
To see the universe.  
To realize life still waited for me.

“She was there when I couldn’t be,” Rose whispered as if she could read his mind.

Frowning down at her, he wondered if she could or just knew him that well. Probably the latter, but their bond had grown in strength since her return. Or maybe that was wishful thinking on his part.

“You’ve already jiggery-pokered her phone,” Rose laughed. “Did you give her a key yet?”

“No.” Unable to mask the pain at his separation from her, the isolation he felt from everyone and everything since losing her, he admitted, “I hadn’t planned on seeing her again after dropping her off yesterday morning.”

“She cares for you, Doctor.” Rose squeezed his hand again and sat up, turning so her legs crossed over top his and wound her arms around his neck. “Let’s ask them, both of them. Doesn’t mean,” she added in a low, suggestive voice, “we won’t find time to ourselves.”

“Alright,” he agreed. He kissed her softly, letting the kiss expand, drown them both.

“You’re not alone, you know.” Rose pulled back with a soft smile, fingers combing through his hair.

“I know.” He nodded and grinned happily at her. “I have you.”


End file.
